Guilt Saved
by Elaine Dawkins
Summary: A murderer finds his longlost daughter. He tries to raise her in order to settle his guilty feelings. Includes Bill, Fagin, Dodger, etc. Dedicated to Broken Amethyst.
1. Abduction

**Abduction**

_It is short, but gives an account of a crime not uncommon among thieves who have gone around for quite some time and feel it their duty to uphold their end of the bargain._

The wooden floor creaked in the hallway outside the closed door. Leanne had been asleep for several hours. This noise was not uncommon; her mother often checked in on her late at night - especially when the weather had been bad or if something was bothering her. What made it strange this time was the fact that the night was peaceful and that she was out of school for the summer and had no worries. Even so, Leanne feigned sleep, as usual, and waited for the door to open. It did. Now, Miss Doris usually called out Leanne's name, with a soft voice, when stepping into the room, but she didn't this time. Leanne now opened her eyes and looked out into the surrounding blackness to find out what the matter was with her mother. Her eyes roved around the room and lighted on some huge bestial being that had crawled, on all fours, in through the doorway.

"Mom?" Leanne whispered. She clung to the covers in fear.

The shape made no reply, but moved over the floor, towards the bed, in a stealthy manner. Leanne wanted to scream, but her throat had become dry and her heart pounded in her chest. Her body had become stiff as if paralyzed; only her eyes were capable of movement.

The beast moved through a patch of moonlight that had filtered through the lace curtains. Leanne now saw that it was not a beast at all, but a human. It was not her mom. It was a strange man!

The man came to the side of the bed and then straitened up to full hight. Leanne shut her eyes and began a silent plea to God to save her and her mother from this intruder. She felt something heavy weigh down the mattress. Then, she felt a hand slide under her back and she was lifted up into, almost, a sitting position. She felt a shiver go down her spine and her stomach became agitated._ Please, no Lord _. . .

The man's hand now moved up toward her neck and then stopped. The pressure on the bed lessened and the he drew nearer. He let go of her for just a second and then she realized that he had wrapped his arm around and under her shoulder blades and that he had also slipped his other arm under her legs. She was lifted out from the covers.

"Say one word an' yer done fer," the man growled in a low tone.

Leanne did not respond aloud, but silently she vowed to do as she was told. She could not speak, even if she wanted to; she was so terrified. Her stomach did a summer-salt and she could feel some nasty substance leap up into her chest as she smelt the man's whisky tainted breath.

It was then that she realized that they had traveled down the stairs and to the front entry. He set Leanne down on the floor and began to slowly unlock and open the door. Once he was finished and the door stood wide open, he lifted her into his arms, once more, and stole away from the house. . .

**Cheerio! This is quite different from my first FanFic, but I hope everyone enjoys it. I am always in need of feedback so please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	2. Through the City

**Through the City**

_The following is intended to explain to the reader what passed before the kidnapping. It shows that criminals, like ripening fruit, are not completely hardened; there are tender points that can be reached when the shell is cracked._

Bill Sikes had been pacing London Bridge for over an hour. He went restlessly to and fro, wringing his calloused hands and muttering to himself. His dog, Bull's Eye, had ceased pacing and had lain down to rest on the pavement. The dog yawned, licked its lips, and seemed unperturbed by his master's mood. Bill took no notice of his furry companion, but was in a world of worried thoughts and feelings.

The sun had risen above the horizon and it illuminated the taller buildings. However, lower down, away from the warm rays, the landscape was pigmented with blue hues, ice, and fog. Even so, the populous began to clog the streets; selling, buying, traveling, and going about the day's toils. Several people walked across the bridge. They looked at Bill in amazement. Here was a lunatic, walking the bridge, raving and seeming not to notice anyone. They began to make remarks about his behavior. The ladies often tended to feel pity for his apparent poverty and his lack of mental ability, while, the men would often comment on his being drunk or just being mentally crazed. "Oh! Too bad!" the ladies would often say when the men explained his behavior as drunkenness, "Poor idiot!" And with that, they would continue on their way, soon forgetting the encounter.

After a while, Bill became aware of the spectators. He was in too much of a strange mood to bother much about them, but he knew that it would be foolish to stay too long. When there was a break in the bridge traffic, he called his dog to follow him and made his way towards the streets. He had no sense of direction or purpose in his wanderings. Miles could not separate him from his thoughts, nor could buildings or people block them out.

He came upon an open square. Pausing, he pulled out his pipe, filled it with snuff, lit it, and began to smoke. The dog rested at his feet - its paws tired. Bill looked around at the people passing by, but they all seemed one big blur in his mind. They were just a bunch of ghosts speeding by in a frenzy. He was the only mortal left; forced to dwell with these beings who could not see or care a thing about him.

Bill pulled his pipe out from between his lips. Looking down at his feet, he noticed that his dog was gone! Quickly looking around, he eyed the creature. The dog had found a tipped over trash can and was in the process of searching for breakfast.

"Bull's Eye!" called Bill and whistled, "Get yerself back over 'ere!"

The dog pulled its head from the can and tottered over to his master as quickly as it could.

"Stay!" commanded Bill, pointing at a point on the ground. The dog sat down and began to lick its lips once more.

Bill continued to look about himself at the crowds. Once or twice, he thought he saw Nancy among the women, but it was only his fancies playing tricks on him. He began to get fidgety again. If it was not really Nancy, then it was her soul tormenting him for his wrongs! _But, of course_, came a voice in his head, _Nancy is not here; she is dead_. _You killed her last night!_

At that moment, Bill could take it no longer. He gritted his teeth, turned heel, and strode away at a quickening speed. The dog did not seem to comprehend the sudden actions of his master and, therefore, was further behind than usual in following. It scuttled as fast as it could, its tongue lolling out and its small nails clicking on the pavement. Bill, looking back, noted its distance and stopped. Bull's Eye increased speed and came up to Bill with its tail between its legs in apology for lateness.

Bill shook his head at the dog,_ Can't get no where fast with this thing bein' slow an' all. I need ta' think this through._

Then, Bill did something he had never done before. He picked up the dog and carried it. It was not, of course, out of kindness for its sore paws that he did this, but for his own needs. He had decided to leave London and seek shelter elsewhere and he wanted to escape the streets as soon as possible. But, where would he go after he exited the city? Bill had thought it through and had decided on a destination. He would need to get as far from London as possible and the one place that kept coming into his mind was Scotland. There was plenty of open country up north. He could find a small village and make a new start.

After picking up the dog, Bill walked over to a woman who was selling biscuits and other baked goods. There were already several people making requests of her for her food. She was trying to fulfill their orders and did not notice Bill's hand reach for a couple of cakes. He stole away into an alley and sat down against the wall. The dog scrambled off his lap and stared at the food. Bill threw a cake onto the ground and the dog began to tear it to shreds and ingest it with rapid ferocity. Bill popped bite size pieces into his mouth and watched his dog in silence. He pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his stained jacket.

At this point, several boys came walking through the alley. Bill pocketed the rest of the cakes and watched them. The boys were filthy and ragged; like any group of boys from the slum part of town. They were giving course jokes to each other and seemed in a cheery mood. One of the boys pulled out a small bottle from his trousers. He took a long swig and then passed it around to the others. They became merrier still. The jests became courser and the laughter louder. The bottle was passed around once more. One of the boys tipped the last of the contents into his mouth and then threw the bottle onto the ground where it smashed against the cobblestones.

"Hay! That was my ale an' my bottle! Yer finished it off!" cried the boy to which the source of the merriment belonged.

"Sos what? Do something about it!" the boy who had done the criminal act began to taunt back and poke his friend in the chest, "See if I care."

"Alright, Herald!" there was a flash of something metal in the boy's hand. He grabbed Herald by the collar and thrust him onto the ground. He then planted his boot on the boy's chest and began to stab him with the pocket knife.

"Help, help, HELP!" yelled Herald. The others just looked on in fear.

Bill could stand the scene no longer. The boy was beginning to bleed and that bothered him mightily. He stood up and pointed his pistol at the boys, "ON WITH YER! OR I'LL BLAST YER ALL TO THE DEVIL HIMSELF!"

The boys paused suddenly at this threat and all retreated to another alley, with Herald bleeding, from small cuts, and trying to keep up.

"There now!" said Bill aloud and slumped back down to finish his breakfast in peace. The only problem was, that although the surrounding area had become fairly quiet, Bill's mind was not. The boys had disturbed him. The fighting, the blood, all of it brought back the guilt he felt. They had reminded him of himself. It was like he had attacked Nancy all over again!

Bill finished his cake, though he had lost his appetite. Even though the sun had risen high enough in the sky to shed light down in shafts into the alley, it seemed blacker than ever.

He stood up, "Heel, yer, heel!" he called to his dog who came over and sat waiting for orders. Bill picked the dog up and began the long journey out of the city.

Coming across a cistern, he dipped his hand in the cool water and brought it up to his lips to drink. He repeated the process several times and then lowered his dog so that it could lap some of the water, also. The dog finished having its drink and licked the remaining water drops from its muzzle.

"Finished are yer?" Bill inquired.

Bull's Eye blinked up at his master and gave a small growl in response.

They continued on only stopping for short breaks and for amassing more provisions for the journey. Bill stole some dried meat from a rack, a small pie, and several other foodstuffs which he deposited in his coat pockets. He had brought some money with him, but he didn't want to spend it until it was absolutely necessary.

As the day dragged toward the noon hour, Bill was beginning to tire. He sat down on the side of the street to take a nap. His dog had been asleep for quite a while, but started up when his master got down onto the pavement. He jumped off of Bill's lap and began to wander around for exercise. Bill didn't care. He dozed intermittently because of the carriages and people going by continued to rouse him. He noted that people began to speculate about him as they had done when he was on the bridge earlier that day. "Must be a poor drunk." "Can't they just go to a poorhouse where they belong?" "Probably can't find a job." "Lazy man!"

Bill opened his eyes, "Not as lazy as yer just standin' there yakin' yer chops!" he responded and glared at the last person to comment. The man looked affronted and, without so much as a word, headed on, his nose in the air.

Bill got up and continued as before. London seemed to be more endless than he had ever known. There was a time when he could come to the outskirts in less than three hours, but now things were different. There was something - some purpose - that usually made the walk short. The purpose usually was burglary. Now, his only purpose was to get away and that was less concrete. And besides, he had no real location to aim for. Outside the city limits there were villages - he could end up at any one of them and it wouldn't matter.

Bill pulled out his pocket watch. It read half past one. He probably still had another hour of walking ahead of him. He decided to stop once he got to the outskirts and wait till the next day to travel towards a village. He knew of a pub in that area. He would aim for that. He picked up his pace hoping to get there as soon as possible.

As time went on, the buildings became less high and further spread apart. Bill came across Hugh Road. Knowing that the pub was just off that main street, he began to head down it. There weren't that many people about here, save a blacksmith, a woman hanging laundry, and a few groups of men holding debates. A few of the men, who knew him from the bar, acknowledged him by tipping their hats. Bill responded in the same way, but did not stop to talk.

The pub was in view and he made his way over to it and went inside. He put his dog back down and ordered that a drink be brought to his room straight away. The barman nodded and continued to clean the glasses that lined the back wall. Bill went upstairs, fell onto the bed, and went right into a drowsy sleep.

**That's chapter No. 2! I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope everyone enjoys reading it! Please leave a review! Bill will be very upset if you don't!!! - Elaine Dawkins**


	3. Information

**Information**

_Bill heads off to find the nearest village; in which he finds out some news that will change his life forever; for better or for worse, remains to be seen._

The sun was fading in the west by the time Bill awoke. He had not planned on going right to sleep and looked around the room, bleary eyed, to locate the drink that had been brought up earlier. It was on the bed stand. Bill sat up and drank it down as preparation to getting all the way up off the bed. Once the whisky was emptied, he set to locating the next important object: the dog. Luckily, since Bill was still in a drowsy state, the dog was easy to find. It was huddled into a ball on a rug in front of the fire place.

The bed creaked as Bill got up and eased it of his burly form and weight. This noise awoke the dog and it got up onto its wobbly legs and yawned.

He called the dog to follow and the two of them went back down to the bar. Bill ordered dinner and sat down at a table. Bull's Eye sat down at his master's feet and continued to yawn. It was then that Bill noticed a London Times folded and left on one of the other tables. He got up and grabbed it. He did not usually read newspapers, but he needed something to preoccupy his mind and this was just the thing. It was an evening edition and had none of the perks of the morning papers; mostly, it held late afternoon news which consisted of such boring material as a cat rescued from a tree, a theatre production review, and other non-particulars.

After scanning and then rescanning the paper, the food arrived and Bill could focus on the more interesting exercise of filling his stomach with the prepared victuals. The dog immediately went into the begging act as soon as the food was laid on the table. Bill ignored the dog's pleas, but continued to eat until he had had his fill. Then, he set the plate down on the ground in order for the dog to lick the scraps.

When his dog had finished, Bill pulled some pennies from his waistcoat and set them down on the table. He then, got up out of his chair, picked up the dog, and left without a single word to the barman.

He headed back to the main road and continued on down it. Bill figured that if he continued to travel straight, as the crow flies, he would eventually end up somewhere. After half an hour, the road became a track and then after an hour, it became a dirt road. The homes and other buildings had disappeared entirely - that is, except for the ghost of them that had appeared far in the distance. Bill paused and looked back. He could still see a bit of London, but the buildings were shrouded in mist and miles. He shook his head in that direction and then gave the dirt road a small kick that brought up a small amount of dust to fall on his half-boots.

Bill found that he did not like the countryside at all. In fact, he downright detested its open meadows, its rolling hills, and its fresh air. Bill coughed, _If this fresh air don't kill me, twill be a miracle! _Like most Londoners, he had become very used to the smog and filth associated with living in an industrial city. But, the air was not the only other thing that plagued him; the country was desolate of people and it was too quiet for comfort. There was nothing save for the lone, stray cow or the insects that hid in the grass until the wind hit the blades and shocked them into frenzied flight. Bull's Eye snapped his jaws at the insects and probably ate quite a few by accident. Bill began to wonder whether he should turn back. The sun had set completely and it was getting difficult to see the road. He lit a match and held it close to his pocket watch. Eleven o'clock at night. Bill blew out the match and then quickly wished he hadn't. He looked about and spotted the form of a tree ahead.

"Stay!" he ordered his dog, and left the path to go towards it.

Bill walked slowly through the tall grasses, trying to avoid mole holes and other things. The tree was a birch and had swingy young branches with much green foliage. Bill snapped off some of the thinner branches and waded back to the road. Once there, he lit the twigs with another match; creating a good torch. Holding it aloft, he continued on.

Within a couple of minutes, Bill realized that he was climbing a fairly steep hill. The ground rose at an angle and he began to perspire; his leg muscles began to tire and smart. Luckily, the ground began to get less steep as he continued until it became level.

Bill paused and looked around. He was indeed on top of a hill. The path led downward toward a valley with - could it be?! - a small, lit town! There appeared to be a church, a public house, a couple of other unidentifiable buildings, and about twelve country houses. There was the sound and stench of farm animals; pigs, sheep, and cows.

Thinking it over, Bill decided that it would not be prudent to go down there so late at night. That would cause questioning and nosing about by the inhabitants who probably only saw outsiders rarely. He decided to stay put until morning.

Bill spread his overcoat on the ground to serve as a bed and went to sleep.

The next morning, Bill was awoken by a cart coming down the path. The sun had barely risen above the horizon. He groaned at the interruption and moved over to the side of the road. Bull's Eye began to growl and Bill gave him a swift kick in the hindquarters to shut him up. The dog jumped and ran a few feet away for protection from further beatings.

The cart came nearer and Bill noted that it was carrying a large supply of ale barrels and wooden crates marked with the words "salted meat." There was an elderly man driving the horses. He appeared to be so very focused on his task, that he showed no sign of seeing anything but the road and the horses afore him. The man whipped the horses into faster action and went speeding down the hill.

Bill stood up and whistled to the dog. He grabbed his coat and shook the dust out of its folds before donning it once more. After slapping off the rest of the dirt from his personage, he headed down the road in a slow manner so as not to be too close behind the cart. Suspicion was not something to be roused.

On reaching the village, the sound of screaming children could be heard. They were playing in the fields. Bill never cared much for children; they were annoying little persons with too much curiosity and too little whit and brains. Even so, for no reason, or satisfactory answer, Bill stopped to watch them. There appeared to be about thirty of them. Bill could get no perfect number because every time he tried to count, they would move or more of them would pop up out of the grass. Bill tried to count several times and came up with everything from twenty-five to thirty-two; he decided that round numbers where better than exact and then he began to wonder why their number even mattered.

_For goodness sakes! Who cares! Yer not a census taker! _He reminded himself.

Bill was just going to move on, after bringing himself back to reality, when his attention was caught by something altogether fascinating.

A girl, who looked to be the age of eleven ran over to a boy, who looked a bit older, and kissed him on the cheek! The boy, in turn, tried to grab the girl by the arm. She jumped out of reach and started to run off. The boy yelled, "Charge!" and several other boys began to chase her around the field. She tripped on something and fell onto her hands. The boys came up behind her and then there was a great dog pile. The girl screamed for help under the heaping bodies.

"Alright, boys," a man came running over from a barn where he had been bailing some hay, "Get off her."

The boys, grinning, let her go. The man went back to his work and, in his absence, the game began all over again.

Bill found the whole thing very intriguing. He watched another girl get caught and then another before he decided to head directly into the town.

The town had only one street and that was full of individuals selling produce, meat, baked goods, and house wares. Unfortunately, there were so few people out and about that it would be impossible for Bill to steal anything without notice. _I'll hafta buy somethin' again!_ _Darn! _He fingered his pockets and pulled out a few more pennies. He began to pace up and down the stalls trying to decide what to buy. The dog followed Bill until it accidentally almost tripped him. Bill glared down at the animal, but did not kick it for fear of notice. The dog scurried out of sight and Bill walked over to a man selling meat.

"How much for a pound o' dried beef?"

"Four shillings, my good sir. And it's fresh - that is, unless you count drying time!"

"That much fer dried beef! I coulda shot and dried the cow myself fer free!" Bill strode away leaving the vender in a very anxious and sorry state.

He then went around and asked several other people for prices and turned down each one. _What all the fuss is abou' farm grown stuff is beyond me! I could pay less in London and get alot o' good food! Natural just means ya gotta pay more; nothin' else! _His mood turned positively sour and he decided to head on as soon as possible.

The only problem was, he wanted to go back to London; it was not such a bad place after all. But no, he couldn't. He could get caught and hung! That was the only thing that kept him from turning around. Otherwise, there was nothing better about being away; his guilt had not left him. He had been distracted for a bit, but the memory came back to him as if he had just committed the crime. Pictures of Nancy came to his imagination and he wanted them to just go away and leave him alone!

Bill was just about to distract himself by calling his dog when, to his horror, he saw someone he recognized. It was a thin lady with long blond hair that reached down to her hips. She was in the process of purchasing a chicken. Bill got out of view as quickly as possible.

Linda Doris had once been a waiter at a bar in London. Bill had pursued her for about a year and then broke the whole thing off when he met Nancy. He had not seen her since then. She had sent him a letter once, saying that she was moving away and nothing else; nothing about where she was headed or why she was leaving. Bill had not cared at all at the time and he did not want to run into her for anything now!

Bill had run into a space between two buildings. He sat down and leant against a wall, hoping that Linda would go away soon. He peered out and saw her come walking down the street with one of the children that had been playing in the field - the one that had started the amusing game.

Linda was talking to the girl, "Leanne, honey, you are not to go running around in your Sunday dress. I hope I can get it unsoiled."

"I was just having fun, Mom," Leanne protested.

"I know, sweetie," Linda grabbed her daughter by the hand and led her off.

Bill stepped back out into the street and watched them enter a small cottage down the road. He then began to walk back out of the village at a fast pace. His mind was definitely distracted now; Nancy was as far away from his thoughts as she could ever be.He could not believe it! He began to do calculations in his head.The girl was abouteleven and Linda had left about twelve years back._ Could 'ave happened, _Bill thought.He tried to search for evidence that would prove his feelings and that was simple and obvious. The girl shared the same dark, wavy hair, the same blue eyes; some of the same facial features he saw every time he paused to check his reflection in a looking-glass. Bill decided that he was a father after all, but he was unsure as to what he should do about it - if anything should be done.

The defiant side of his nature told him to forget about it and to put all energy to running off, but something else told him to not forget and to take the whole thing into consideration. Bill decided to humor that side for a bit, not knowing why, until it occurred to him that that side also could favor his defiant side. Nancy had always liked children, she liked Oliver for that matter, and maybe, if Bill aided a child, she would no longer haunt him. Bill was not totally convinced because he disliked children and he could not afford one.

He suddenly felt a cold, shiver run down his spine. He looked around and thought he saw Nancy sweeping one of the house porches - No! It was not Nancy, it was an elderly woman.

"Alright," growled Bill, "Yer can just go away! Yer hear!" he headed back into the village and went straight to the pub, feeling like he could use a couple pints of whisky.

**Cheerio! Thanks for reading! I hope that this is not moving too slowly, but I like to include a lot of description. I think it makes the story come alive - maybe I'm wrong. Tell me if I am. Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	4. Asembly of Sinners Revisited

**Assembly of Sinners / Revisited**

_In which it is shown that a person on the lamb also appears to be a lost sheep - a sinner, not mutton. And a plan is carried out that comes, later, with some bad side effects._

The bar was very small. It had about four small tables in all and had a low roof, which was emphasized by low-hanging chandeliers. If a person were over six and a quarter feet tall, he would have undoubtedly lost his head on entering. There was a muggy, moist smell of pine wood - which lined all the walls. The smell was so strong that it hit Bill right as he walked in as if he had be punched in the nose. He quickly sat down and lit his pipe so as to inhale something different. Once his nose was able to recover from the shock, Bill was able to look around the place properly. The bar was empty except for a barman, who was meticulously scrubbing bottles, and a couple of elderly gentlemen, who were sipping beer and playing at a chess match.

Bill was just about to order some whisky when he was interrupted by a bell toll. The elderly gentlemen looked up from the chess board and the barman paused in mid scrub. The bell tolled several more times - repeating each fading ring with a new and stronger note. Now, the elderly gentlemen put on their hats and exited, leaving behind the beer mugs, half full, and the game, half played.

The barman set down the bottle with a small thud, untied his apron, and looked over at Bill, "You'll hafta leave, laddie. I'm closin' the place - I hafta attend service," he spoke with a thick Irish accent.

Bill was stunned, but didn't know what else to do. He could not argue the point or order the man to stay and give him his whisky. So, he followed the barman outside. Bill paused to watch the barman lock the doors with a silver key; he was unsure about what action to take at this point. He tried to reason the problem out as quickly and systematically as possible.

Bill had no commitment to anything religious: not in the past or present, nor the future, as he saw it. He did not want to go to a building for several hours just to be preached at. To Bill, fire and brimstone sermons were something to be feared more than Hell itself. In fact, with all the blood-guilt, that would not go away with any amount of washing with soap and water, Hell seemed quite near and so much a reality, that Bill was afraid that the very word spoken, "Hell," would lead to his immediate departure there of. Also, he was afraid of being seen by Linda. She probably attended regularly.

On the other hand, he could not dismiss himself. Imagine being the only one, in a town of about fifty, to skip church. That would draw too much attention, too much prying. The rest of the day, he would be watched by the inhabitants. They would ignore him altogether or, even worse, point and say, "Look, there's the one person who we didn't see sit down in a pew; he's a real sinner. The Devil with him!"

The barman was now replacing the key in his knickers' pocket. He walked off toward the church. Bill decided that the chance of possibly running into Linda was too risky. Thinking it over, it occurred to him that he need not hang around in the village, anyway. If he disappeared now and no one here ever saw him again, then there was no harm in skipping the service after all.

He made his way in the opposite direction; away from the town and into the brush. Bill was still regretting the lost possibility of the ale. His throat seemed dryer than usual. He pulled out one of the leftover cakes from his coat pocket. This aroused the attention of the dog - who, at that point, began to edge over toward his master, slowly and deliberately, licking its chops and blinking up with watery eyes. Bill pulled the cake apart and threw one-third to his dog. Bull's Eye caught the cake in his mouth and began smacking and gulping it down.

Bill ate his part of the cake in a prolonged manner. He knew the food would have to last him until he could get to the next destination, but how long would that be? The next village could be any amount of miles away; anything from ten to a hundred miles. He began to pull more food from his coat in order to count it. There were two more cakes, five strips of salted pork, a small mutton pie, a raw potato, and a variety of beens in a small bag. This was not much and Bill found himself looking down at the grass, wondering what it tasted like and whether it was nutritious or not. He shook his head at the blades and thought about how long the food would last and be safe to eat - there was a difference between how long he could make the food last in number and how long the food would last in safe eating. Bread, Bill knew, would only last a week before it would get moldy and the meat would last a couple of weeks as long as it stayed salted and dry. So, he would have to eat the cakes and mutton pie within a short period. The meat would last longer and could wait a bit before being digested. But, what about the potato? How long would it last? Why did he even steal a raw potato in the first place? _I don't like them uncooked_, he thought,_ I wonder if the dog would eat it?_ Bill pulled out a pocket knife and shaved a piece of potato. He threw it onto the ground. The dog sniffed at it, unsure about what it was.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Bill said aloud, "It won't poison yer. Eat it!"

The dog looked up a Bill, sniffed at the potato once more, and licked it up. Bill shaved off another piece to test whether or not the dog would take it after the first try. The dog would not even approach it this time. _Darn! I'll hafta eat the repulsive veg'table myself! _He replaced it back in his pocket with an oath and began to look around for something to entertain himself with.

Finding nothing, he decided to take a stroll around the area. He circled the town, staying far enough off to avoid any possible detection. Within time, he came near to the church. It was a very small one with a high tower. Stained glass windows lined two walls and there was a graveyard in the back covered sporadically with tombstones and cheerful flowers. A wooden fence surrounded the graveyard and Bill paused to lean on it and rest.

There had been silence and then, the congregation broke out into singing. It could be heard as clearly to Bill as if he had been standing right in front of the choir. It was a song that Bill had heard as a child, but he had never paid any attention to the words. Now he heard them clearly and, for the first time, they had meaning.

"_Plenteous grace with thee is found, grace to cover all my sin;_

_Let the healing streams abound; Make and keep me pure within._

_Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee;_

_Spring Thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity."+_

The hymn ended, but the words reverberated in Bill's head. He felt his heart a bit lighter. The congregation began another song and he decided to get closer to the building. He crept up to one of the kaleidoscope-like windows and peered inside. Everyone was standing and singing with smiles on their faces. Bill looked around and found his daughter, standing in front of the congregation with several other children, singing out with the voice of an angel.

Bill found that he had water standing in his eyes. He brushed it away with the back of his hand. _Well, now yer gettin' all misty. That ain't manly!_ He straightened up and tried to tear his eyes away from the sight, but found that he couldn't.

After a while, Bill began to consider sneaking in and sitting through the rest of the service when, to his slight disappointment, the people within began to leave their pews and head for the front doors. That had been the concluding hymn.

Bill picked up the dog and ran off toward the brush once more. There he passed several hours in sleep and meditation. Unfortunately, his heart, over the rest of the day, lost some of the warmth that it had gained in those several minutes he had, secretly, attended the service. He pushed it into his subconscious and began to make plans for that evening. He needed to find a way to enter Linda's house without using a crowbar; he had not grabbed it when he left Bethnal Green the prior day. Once inside the house, Bill would be able to grab some more provisions and also Leanne. But first, before starting this endeavor, he would have to do something with the dog.

Bull's Eye had lain down to rest at Bill's feet. The dog was asleep and its paws twitched as though it were dreaming of running after some stray cat. Its breathing was shallow and it gave a low growl every time it exhaled.

Bill fingered in one of his pockets and produced a small bottle. It held a brown liquid that looked like murky water. Laudanum; a medicine containing opium, among other things. Nancy had covertly poured some in Bill's gin once and it had caused him to go into a hard sleep. If he gave a good amount to the dog, it would inevitably go into a coma and drift to irrevocable sleep. Then, he would not have to feed it or deal with it any longer.

He held the bottle in the light and read the printed dose instructions. It said that children as young as two should receive a teaspoon. Bill decided that two teaspoons then, would do the trick. He did not in fact have a teaspoon on hand, but he could soak one of the cakes with enough of the liquid to make it lethal. He poured some of the laudanum on one of the cakes and threw it into the grass. The dog jumped up and ran over to it. After sniffing at the cake for several seconds, it yelped and ran back toward Bill with its tail between its legs.

Bill sighed, knowing that the whole act was useless. He decided to tie up the dog instead. Besides, he didn't really have the heart to kill the creature after all.

Twelve hours later, after staying out of sight, Bill emerged from the brush and headed down towards the village. The moon hung in a sliver above the silent, dark-shrouded world. All was still and quiet save for the sound of barn animals and the low gong of the church bell swaying in the breeze.

He headed in the direction of Linda's cottage, which was nestled among a hedge and some swaying oak trees. Bill unlatched the little gate in front of the walkway and proceeded to walk up onto the porch, stopping once he reached the front door. Having nothing to pry the door with, he turned the knob. It opened! Bill was flabbergasted, never in all of history would anyone leave their doors unlocked at night - at least, not in London. But, here, secure and knowing everyone's business, the inhabitants felt safe enough to not bother with making their doors fast.

Bill pushed gently on the door and it turned open on its hinges. He entered the house and immediately found himself in the living room. It boasted a couple of overstuffed chairs, some lamps, a rug, several plants, and a brick fireplace. Bill's fingers ached at the thought of not being able to steal some of the lovely things lying about the tables and shelves, but he had business. He walked through an archway and found himself in a small dining room. Going through a door in the left wall, Bill found the kitchen.

Bill found a trapdoor in the floor and opened it. He went down several steps and came across a small cave, filled with canned edibles. There was fruit, vegetables, meets, cheeses, and even some wine. Bill stuffed his pockets with the small canned goods and he even procured a bottle of Pinot Blanc. It was a very good thing that his coat was so roomy and could hold a number of articles because Bill would need as much provender as he could obtain.

After stuffing himself silly, Bill headed up the stairs where he expected to find the bedrooms. Directly in front of the landing, there was the master bedroom. Bill turned to the right and came across a second bedroom. It had been turned into a library. Walking on, he came to the third. The floor was quite creaky along the hallway. Bill managed to cut down on the amount of noise by crawling across the remainder of the hall. This was not the easiest thing in the world to do because of Bill's natural bulk and because of the added weight of the stolen foodstuffs.

The third bedroom was closed. Bill turned the knob, pushed the door ajar, and crawled into the room. This was indeed the right place. It was a small room, with lace curtains, toys strewn about, a small child's bed, and in that bed, a sleeping child.

The little girl opened her eyes. Bill could see this because the weak moonlight glimmered off them. She spoke one word and closed her eyes once more.

Bill crawled over to the bed and stood up. He began to lift her out of the bed, but stopped momentarily to have a good look at her. She was shaking as though with palsy and would not open those beautiful, blue eyes. He lifted her gently out from under the covers, gave her a quick warning to be quiet, and headed out of the house.

Once, free from the front yard, Bill began to run at full speed. Leanne opened her eyes, looked around with a startled expression, shook even worse, and began to sob. Tears streamed down her face in rivers and she grasped Bill's coat, "Mom . . . mom . . . I want my mom!" Her voice cracked and she fell to sobbing once more. She gulped several times and squirmed. Bill held her tighter and made for a tree that was several feet away.

Once Bill reached the tree, he came to a stop and set Leanne down on the grass. He pulled the bottle of laudanum from his pocket and filled the cap, of the bottle, with some of the liquid. He bent down over the girl and addressed her.

"Le'nne, yer alright. Drink this," he helped her into a sitting position and dumped the drink down her throat. She continued the cry and call for her mother, but after a minute or two, she began to become drowsy. She fought less and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

"Finally," mumbled Bill. He walked over to the tree and untied his dog. Bull's Eye went over and sniffed at Leanne in curiosity.

"Alright, yer gonna hafta leg it this time," said Bill. He picked up Leanne, whistled to the dog so that it would follow, and headed off toward the next destination.

_+A Charles Wesley hymn_

**I feel that I need to apologize to any readers that might be atheists. I am sorry if anyone is offended by my religious writings, but I feel that it is important to discuss. If you disagree, please do not give me a bad review; just dismiss the religious parts and review the basic story structure or my writing style. **

**I hope I offend no one and that everyone enjoys my story - Elaine Dawkins**


	5. Controversy and Goodbyes

**Controversy and Goodbyes**

_They say that the grass is always greener on the other side, but our characters find that this is not always the truth. Miss-deeds and ill-usage become part of the pang of guilt._

Leanne awoke the next day with a headache. The second that her head came out of dreamland, a pain shot through her skull. She moaned and realized that the sun was up and bright; it was glowing red through her closed eyelids. She quickly covered them with her hands and turned over onto her stomach. Her cheek raked wet, dewy grass and she realized that her nightgown was sticking to her back. She began to softly weep in her confusion and maltreatment.

Bill had laid himself to rest against a brick wall. He opened his eyes and looked over at his daughter. She was barely moving, her hair draped down over the sides of her head in shoulder-length ringlets of brown. Bill got up off the ground and walked over to her. He tapped her on the shoulder. Finding that this did not obtain any acknowledgment of his presence, he put his hand to her side and rolled her over so that she was facing up toward heaven, her fingers still shading her eyes. Bill grabbed one of her hands and removed it, by force, from her face. She pulled it back and he did this once more, now pulling both off and pinioning her arms down on the ground. She squinted and more tears squeezed out between her lids.

This act perplexed Bill. Whenever Nancy had been in a state like this, she had always been chaotic and noisy, but Leanne was the opposite; she simply stayed still and silent, showing little resistance. Bill was good at handling and battling those who were willing to fight back, but he could not fight someone who just sat there like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

He got onto his knees and pondered what the next step was that he should take. After thinking it through, he decided that the direct approach was best. He pulled her up into a sitting position and spoke to her.

"Le'nne, yer hear me?" Bill shook her a slight bit and she responded with a faint, "yes."

"Can yer open yer eyes an' look at me?" he continued. This time, she shook her head, "How come?"

Leanne lifted one of her hands and pointed toward the sky and then directed her finger to point at her head.

"What are yer tryin' ter say?" Bill was getting impatient at her slowness to respond and answer his questioning.

"Headache . . . my head is throbbing. . ," she moaned and turned her head away from Bill.

"Headache, hummm . . . jus' a side effect of the sleep aid. It'll wear off." Bill turned his attention to breakfast. He rummaged in his coat and pulled out the mutton pie, the two remaining cakes, and the accursed potato. He pulled out his pocket-knife and split the pie in half. Bill grabbed Leanne's hand and shoved her portion of the pie and one of the cakes onto her palm. She brought her hand close to her face and opened one eye to see what had been offered. Seeing that it was food, she sniffed it. Bill was reminded of the dog - and realizing that it was no where to be found, set off to look for it while his daughter ate.

Bill took the potato and the pocket knife in his hands as he walked away. In the light of day, he noticed that the potato was turning a bit greenish under the skin. He decided right then that he would not eat it for anything. The dog would have to eat it; he would force it to.

At this point, he came to a grouping of low thorny bushes. He put the potato and the knife back in his pocket and began to grope through the branches, trying to avoid the prick of the needles. Finding nothing, he walked further on and came to another clump of bushes. To his delight, this grouping had blackberries! They were plump, juicy, and covered Bill's hands with rivulets of purple innards as he tried to pick and deposit them in his handkerchief. He became engrossed in the whole process and forgot about his dog. Who cared where it went off to? Food was more important. Without food, they would starve; without the dog they would just travel at a faster pace. Bill continued until his handkerchief could hold no more. He tied the corners together and set off back toward Leanne.

Leanne hand moved from the grass and Bill found her bent on the dirt with her head in a bush. _What is the girl up to now?_ Bill wondered. He walked over and addressed her, "Le'nne, wot yer got there?"

The girl pulled herself out of the bush and brushed small leaves out of her hair. She looked up at Bill and rubbed her eyes before she spoke, "I found a dog," she had a slightly surprised expression on her face, "Look."

Bill got down beside her and pulled back some of the branches. Bull's Eye appeared to be asleep. He was curled into a ball at the bush's roots; his tail thumped the ground in rhythm with his breathing. Bill picked up the dog and then set it down on the grass. The dog opened its eyes and stared up at its master, but did not get up. Bill stood up and whistled at the dog; it did not respond.

"Is the poor thing ill?" asked Leanne. She crawled over and stroked the dog's head.

"Might be," was all Bill could say.

"I wonder who's dog he is."

"Mine," Bill sighed and pulled out the potato. He scraped some of the skin off, "he's prob'ly jus' hungry."

"Does he eat potatoes?" she looked up at Bill with a worried glance.

"A little."

"That potato is green. My mom told me once that green potato is poisonous!"

This information struck Bill like cold air. He had poisoned his dog! If it died, then he would have murdered two beings - first Nancy and now this animal! He was unsure about what to do. Thinking of the Pinot Blanc that he had stolen, he pulled out the bottle. It was then that he realized that he had no cork screw on hand. He ran over to the brick wall and smashed the bottle against it. The bottle shattered and spilt about half of the contents down the wall and onto the ground. Being quick, Bill came back over and forced the dog's mouth open. Bull's Eye growled and tried to bite, but Bill was still able to pour down a good amount of the burning liquid. The dog chocked on it and jumped up in a ferocious start. Bill tried to grab his dog, but its tiny fangs pierced his hand and, as he pulled his hand back to suck out the blood, Bull's Eye raced off at pell mell speed, down a slope and away through the long grass. It disappeared in a twinkling and neither Bill nor Leanne could locate it.

They searched for a good hour before giving up. Bill was itching to get away from the area. It was a partially forested part of the country with some large estates dotting the landscape. The homes were grand in style and size; three or four stories of sturdy, red brick and paned windows that caught the morning light. Each one had a brick wall and iron gates. Bill had only been able to walk about five miles the night before; technically, these homes were still a part of the village that Leanne had grown up in.

"We need to get movin'," Bill tossed the potato into the bushes and grabbed Leanne's wrist. Leanne slumped to the ground and began to cry. Bill tugged on her arm to try and force her to follow his lead. She just covered her face with her other arm and Bill let go involuntarily. He was not interested in telling her about himself or anything else just yet, so he grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her up into his arms. The girl buried her face in his coat and he could feel her tremble with misery and heartache. Bill wanted her to stop; she was not helping in any case and, also, he began to worry that he had made a terrible, irrevocable mistake.

Trying to block the negative thoughts from his mind, Bill began to wander off in a northern direction. The problem was that he had come to the same crisis as usual; he had no point to aim at. Bill cursed himself for not bringing a map. Then, he could at least have headed for lakes, mountains, or other landmarks, but no. He had not even bothered to ask anyone in the village for directions.

Bill paused as an idea hit him. He ran back over to the bushes and dropped Leanne back onto the grass, "Stay here, I'll be back soon!" he growled at her, as a threat, and ran off.

Behind the nearest estate, there was a coach house. It was surrounded by another brick and iron fence, but this did not deter Bill. He tried the gate and found that, like all the other people living in the middle of nowhere, the owners had not bothered to lock it. Bill slowly eased the gate open and entered the courtyard. There was a building that only had three walls, in it there was an expensive, black carriage with velvet seats. Bill paused to admire the craftsmanship of the vehicle, but was interrupted from his rapture by the naying of horses. There were six small stables in the back of the building; each with its own black horse. The graceful animals tossed their heads, scraped the ground with their hooves, and sniffed the air. Bill eyed them for a minute and then raced back out of the coach house and back toward the bushes.

Bill picked up Leanne, "Not a sound, yer hear?" he carried her back with him to the stables, "Do yer know anything abou' horses?" he whispered.

Leanne nodded.

"Well then, I want 'em connected to the carr'age . . . quickly!"

His daughter went right to work. She led one of the horses, by the bridle, out of the stable and over to the carriage. Within half an hour, she had two of the horses reigned and ready to go. Bill grabbed her and set her in the carriage. He then followed and grabbed the reigns. After looking around one last time, Bill slapped the horses across their backs and they sped off at a rapid pace. Bill grinned as the estate loomed further and further into the background and as the wind blew past. Now this was the way to travel!

**Cheerio! Thanks for reading! I would like to say thanks to my reviewers: Charlene Bates, Broken Amethyst, and Protego Totalum! Thanks you guys! - Elaine Dawkins**


	6. The Return part one

**The Return (part one)**

_The history now diverts to a couple of new characters, who will later prove to be a great turning point for our two travelers. _

The boy was asleep on his filthy cot. It was near midnight and he made not a sound or movement in the still air. Moonlight drifted in through a small window, casting a square of light onto the concrete floor. His boots lay beside his bed and his only other belonging, a tin cup containing some amount of undrunk mineral water, was placed on a small table. As a gust of wind penetrated the window, the boy convulsively pulled his coat tightly around his middle and shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in a tight embrace. Even though, he did this, he did not awake - and better so.

He had been ill for some days with what, a doctor's opinion had told, was a slight influenza and a slight infection of the lungs and chest. He had been checked several times through the days by the said doctor, and each time had been told to rest and drink lots of fluids. The doctor would have also added the fact of keeping warm, which would have done in any other case, except for the fact that within the confines, blankets were of a rare species. The conclusion was, therefore, that the boy would just have to keep warm using his high temperature, which had spiked a cozy one-hundred and three just that morning. The doctor found this joke quite amusing, but it was not so comforting a thought to the boy. He was forced to drink a good deal of mineral water to flush out his system - the flushing out being more of a stomach matter than a lavatory matter; the boy retched fairly often because he could not keep the drink down long enough for it to pass out of his system in a more convenient and natural way. He was also plagued with a dry cough and sore throat, trembles, cold flashes that often had nothing to do with the open window, and a woozy feeling in his head that often made the room appear as though he were staring at it through a fishbowl. All in all, it was the worst experience he had ever felt in all his ten years of bodily existence.

The boy continued to sleep until he was awoken by the clink and click of metal hitting metal. He did not move a muscle, but stared in the direction of the noise. He guessed that it was another doctor, or the same one, being brought in to poke and prod him until he felt even more miserable than before. The man was let into the room and the door was closed once more. By this time, the boy had gone back to hugging himself - not only as a reaction to the cold, but also as a defense mechanism against further discomfort and torture brought on by the medical sciences.

The doctor came closer to the cot and the boy blinked his eyes trying to get them to focus properly. The darkness did not help his vision, but he could tell that this doctor was taller than the usual one and that he was wearing a different sort of hat upon his head. The boy closed his eyes after feeling himself go into a giddy state. He shivered and gave a deep sigh, "Why now?" he asked, "Why not bother me in the light of day, instead?" he fell silent and waited for a response or retort.

Without a word, the doctor stepped back and went to the door. He had a quick word with one of the men outside and then returned a minute later with a lit candle. He put it close to the boys face, the better to see him. The light caused the boy to open his eyes and look up at the doctor's countenance. The doctor was very familiar, but the boy could not reason out why; between his illness, his screwy vision, and the changes of the past few days, he could figure nothing out. He gave the doctor a weary and confused scrutiny then turned over to face the wall.

The doctor felt affronted, by his friend's attitude of apparent indifference, to the nth degree. He now addressed the boy by his name, "Dodger!"

The boy turned over at the sound of that! He had been called Jack, Mr. Dawkins, The Boy, and many other more offensive names by others who had visited him in the past; this was different and he felt almost comforted by the reminder. "Dodger!" the doctor repeated.

"Yeah," the Dodger turned back over, "Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who am I?!" the doctor suddenly lowered his voice down to an almost inaudible whisper, "I fed, clothed, and taught you a decent living and you say 'who are you!' My dear, that will never do!"

"Fagin?!" whispered Dodge, not believing, "Is it you?" he flung out his hands and found the man's velvet coat. He brushed it between his palms and sighed in a peaceful and relieved way.

Fagin slapped Dodge's hands away from his coat and the Dodger smiled; to him, this act was the loveliest form of tenderness and caring, mostly the only type he had ever received in his life. Fagin was not the type to bestow love in embraces and other like means; he usually used slight tapings, slaps, flattery and other kinds of playful acts to admonish affection or give attention to his proteges.

"I'm glad you're not another doctor!" said Dodge, still smiling, "I've had enough of their lot. They just . . ," the boy broke into a small coughing fit. After, leaning over the cot to deposit some phlegm into a tin milking-bucket, he continued, "They just examine every inch of me they can get their fingers to and then say that I look worse . . . or the same."

"Ah yes, my dear. That is why I never bother with them, myself."

"Thank God! Fagin?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"What are you doing here? You didn't get . . ,"

"Caught? I am afraid so," he sat down on the ground and placed his chin in his hands.

"How'd you get . . ."

"Nancy peached on us all, my dear. But," he came closer to Dodge so that their noses where within an inch of each other, "that is not the point. We need to find a way out of here as soon as possible. I . . ," he stopped abruptly.

"Yes?!" Dodge was getting excited. Fagin was about to give him the plan of escape. He no longer felt his illness; all his attention was on the old Jew.

"Nothing, my dear. You need your rest. Go back to sleep and we'll discuss this in the morning," Fagin placed one of his hands over Dodge's eyes. At the soft touch of the Jew's ratty, woolen gloves, the boy relaxed and closed his eye lids. Fagin began to hum a little tune and the boy felt himself fall into a deep comatose.

**I am so glad to be writing about the Dodger and Fagin again! Bill is really neat to write about, but this is a nice breath of fresh air for this story! I hope you feel the same way! Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	7. Ponds, Pools, and Duck A L'orange

**Ponds, Pools, and Duck A L'orange**

_The story returns to our two travelers; they experience what it means to live completely by natural standards and ways. They discover that even the most expensive meal can be made in a cheap way that is still just as tasty. _

They rode for four hours and had covered more miles of countryside than Bill could have possibly dreamt of. Trees, fields, hills, and lakes had sped past in a wonderful blur of greens, golds, aquas, and browns. The country now became boggy and the sky was filled with water-weighted clouds just waiting to burst forth with showers. Reeds stuck out of the long grasses and ducks floated upon the muddy, mossy pools in-between. If it had not been for the dirt track, they would never have been able to forgo the area using the horses.

The track had taken several turns during the trip and Bill often had to gauge the movement of the sun in order to make sure they were still heading north. But now, the clouds had covered the sky, making it impossible - or actually, more risky - to move on. Because of the questionableness of their direction, Bill reigned in the horses. He then jumped down from the carriage and looked around. They were surrounded in every direction by marshland and over-cast skies. Bill looked back at Leanne. She was still asleep, draped over the velvet seats.

Bill now turned his attention to the horses. They had been going for quite some time without a break; they were probably not used to going at a good speed for that long a period of time, they would need a rest. Both the horses were covered in sweat, which glimmered down their shinny, black coats. He walked over to one of the horses and began to unharness it. Bill stroked the horse's nose before he led it off the path to the grass so that it could graze for a bit. He then loosed the other horse and led it to the grass also. He tied them to a gnarly, dead tree, that stood to the side of the road, and then returned to the carriage.

Leanne had been startled. She had been aroused from sleep by Bill's withdrawal from the carriage. She had been surprised by the strange landscape and by the muggy smell of standing water and rotting plants. This was not like anything she had ever experienced. She remembered reading about the northern reaches of the country; the increase in rain, the drop in temperature, the lakes, forests, mountains, but she had never been there and now she was. It was like being sucked into a story; time and place had changed dramatically while she had slept.

"Where are we?" Leanne leant forward out of the carriage and looked over at Bill who was depositing their provisions on the side of the road.

"North, that's abou' all I know," he began to open a couple of the canned goods. He dipped his forefinger in each jar and tasted the contents.

"Why are we here?" Leanne seemed in ernest about this. From the tone of her voice to the way her eyes widened and stared, she was obviously scared.

Bill had been waiting for that question; he had been surprised by how long that wait had been, but now he was forced to confess, "I'm runin' from the law."

Leanne leant even farther from the carriage. Looking up, Bill came over and grabbed her before she lost her balance and tipped out of it. He carried her over to the grass and continued, "I figured that if I did some good - that is - took care o' yer," he paused to consider for a second, "I'd not feel guilty; that's all."

She had sprawled herself across the grass and was watching a tiny guarder snake slither through the blades. She paused to look up at Bill, "Why me? Why not someone without a . . . a . . ," she buried her face in her crossed arms and trembled.

Bill felt exceedingly remorseful at this point. He massaged her back with one of his calloused hands and used his only excuse, "I thought yer might like me; I'm yer father fer Heaven's sake."

Leanne looked up with tears gleaming in her eyes, "Really?"

Bill nodded and then went back to tasting the food. He did not want to discuss the matter any further; there was no need. She would either believe his story and come to accept things as they were or she would stay miserable.

In taking stock of the canned goods, Bill came upon a jar of orange marmalade. Bill had always favored marmalade above all other jams and preserves. He took an extra big dollop of the orange mass and stuck it in his mouth. Mmm . . .

"Are you just gonna eat jelly?" Leanne had crawled over to his side and was staring over his shoulder, a small smile creasing her cheeks.

Bill came back to reality and shook his head. Leanne giggled and grabbed a jar that was stuffed with currant jam. She unscrewed the lid and took a bit.

_We really can't eat this stuff by itself_, thought Bill, _Wish I had some biscuits or toast to smear it on_. He looked around at the surroundings and sighed, "I'll be back," he turned to his daughter, "yer just stay here."

Bill scrambled to his feet and walked off a ways. An idea had struck him and he needed to carry it through. He walked farther and paused, listening. There was not a sound; the air was still. He began to wonder through the bog, stepping carefully on the grasses and avoiding the muddy water. After going through the muggy labyrinth for about five minutes, he heard what he had been waiting for.

Ducks abounded in that part of the country. They flourished among the open, still waters; laying their eggs in small nests hidden in the reeds and eating the insects that lived in and among the marsh. They floated above the water, their ducklings following behind them, foraging for food. You could hear them quacking and rustling their feathers as they swam or flew into the summer sky. They felt secure during this time of the year; duck hunting season was not for a few more months. So, they felt free to be out and see to their own business.

Hunting was not something that Bill had ever joined in - unless you count humans. He had no experience in the sport and did not even know what season it was plied in, what type of firearm to use, or how to sneak up on the poor creatures without startling them into an impossible frenzy. All he knew was that duck was a delicacy and that he was hungry for something filling.

Bill flattened himself against the ground and listened. Quack, quack, quack . . ; a group of ducks came swimming within a close proximity to him. He peered through the reeds and found that there were four of them. They were brown all over except for a lustrous, blue streak across each of their wings and they spoke to one another as they paddled their feet and turned their heads to look around.

They seemed an easy target. Bill pulled his pistol and aimed it at the nearest bird. He held his breath and pulled the trigger. At the bang, feathers flew everywhere. The sound reverberated around the surrounding air. The ducks had taken flight and were streaking across the sky in mass numbers. Bill aimed and shot another bullet into the sky. There was a loud BANG and then a plop and splash. A duck had not escaped after all.

Bill groped forward and found the duck in one of the miry pools. It way lying on its side with one of its wings crumpled under its own body weight. Crimson blood was beginning to tint and curl in the surrounding water. Bill picked up the duck by the neck and set off for the road.

He reappeared after a while. The duck was dripping and wobbling from the neck down as Bill strode over to Leanne. She crumpled her nose when she saw it, "What is that?!" she cried, knowing all too well what it was.

"Dinner," said Bill.

"Do you know how to cook ducks?" she came over to inspect it.

"Sorta," Bill set the duck down on the ground and began to gather as many dry grasses and branches as he could find. Once done with that, he lit the pile with a match and then began to dress the duck, "Le'nne?"

"Yes."

"Keep the fire goin'. I gotta skin this an' get it ready."

"You mean dress it?!" she giggled, "make it some trousers."

Bill grinned and pulled out his pocket knife. He held the duck and tried to skin it like a potato. This technique seemed to work well even though he cut off more than just the skin in doing so. After a while, a good portion of the meat had been unearthed and Bill deemed it ready for roasting.

The horses had been moved farther off and the fire had been placed under the dead tree. The duck was suspended, at the head, from one of the tree's limbs by a length of twine. It hung just barely an inch from the flames that leapt up into the cool air. Bill and Leanne sat near the fire and made small talk. Bill told her stories of the lesser crimes he had committed during adolescence; not wanting to give the impression that he was a murderer or anything else worse than a pick-pocket. Leanne found the stories to be very funny at times and she would laugh, clap her hands, and beg for more when he swore that his memory was running out.

"I was wonderin'," Bill poked at the duck with a stick, "What was that game yer were playin' at? The one where yer kissed that boy."

Leanne giggled and fell onto her back. The color mounted on her cheeks, "That's just a game where you try to annoy as many boys as you can. You have two teams - a boy team and a girl team. The girls take turns being the "leader." The "leader" goes over and kisses an unsuspecting boy - making him the "head chaser." He, then, heads the other boys in chasing down the girl. The other girls try to keep the boys away. If the boys catch the girl, they win. If the girl gets to a certain spot without being caught, then the girls win."

"So there's no romance in it?"

"No!" she laughed again, "Its just fun. You can gross out the boys and the boys can tackle the girls - it keeps both sides happy. Our parents hate the game - that makes it even funner!"

"Seems like a good time to me," Bill had untied the duck and was now rummaging through the canned goods. He came across what he was looking for: the orange marmalade.

"Ev'r hear of somethin' called duck a l'orange?" Bill questioned.

Leanne shook her head.

Bill cut some of the meat off the duck's breast and dropped a bit of the marmalade on top, "Try that."

His daughter took a piece and stuck it in her mouth.

"Well?"

"It's tangy and sort of like chicken . . . I like it," she grabbed another piece.

"That's what they serve in fancy rest'rants," Bill pulled off even more meat and covered it in more of the preserve.

They ate until the duck was just bones and gutturals. Bill dumped some water on the fire and then smothered it with dirt. Leanne stood by watching and patting the horses, "Look!" she suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the sky.

Bill raised his gaze and there was the sun, peering through some torn cloud. It was not even half-way to the setting position in the sky, but it still threw out hot pink, purple, and orange rays.

"Yer don't see that much in London," commented Bill.

"Why?"

"Too much smog - it blocks the sky - makes it all foggy," he finished with the fire, moved the provisions back into the carriage, harnessed the horses, and they were soon on their way, once more.

**That was a really fun chapter to write! I know the duck part is gross and cruel, but they need to eat something! Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	8. The Return part two

**The Return (part two)**

_The old Jew and the Dodger continue life behind bars. Something tragic befalls them and immediate action must be taken to thwart it._

Seeing that the boy was asleep, the old Jew removed his green coat and placed it over the Dodger's form to keep him warm. He then walked over to the opposite wall and crouched down onto the ground. Fagin spent a majority of the night sitting, with his back against the wall. He tried to carefully reason-out a decent plan of escape - not so much for the boy, as for himself. The boy would get out eventually; if not bodily then spiritually. He did seem fairly ill and Fagin had tried to act cheerful in order to lift his spirits. Although, If the boy did live through it, then he would be discharged within a couple of days - the fact being that youths under the age of thirteen could only be locked up for a certain period of time. He knew though, that _he_ would never be released in bodily form and he only had a week before he would be released spiritually; through a cruel hanging on the gallows.

Fagin twitched and bit at his knuckles when he remembered this fact and he could almost feel the rope tightening and grazing his neck. He lifted his hand and rubbed this area, trying to soothe it from the burning cord and then stopped, letting it fade from his thought to his sub-conscious. He needed to focus his attention on avoiding the hanging, not on the actual hanging itself.

_Alright, you've got seven days to do this in. Now, there is a small window with bars going all through it. Nothing I can do there! There's the iron doors - locked at all times. Unless I could get them unlocked . . . How would I go about doing that? There are three guards out there. If I got one of them to come over to the bars and I picked the keys off him . . . No! That won't work!_

He shook his head and discarded that idea. From there, he came up with one desperate plan after another. They all had terrible failings and a plethora of problems to boot. They were often too complicated or they relied too heavily on chance to even hope in. Fagin felt his muscles tense at every rejected plan. He wanted to pace, but he knew that doing such acts would only wake the Dodger.

Fagin went back to biting his knuckles until his tongue alighted upon the sour, salty taste of blood. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers within it to stifle the flow. He was glad that the officers had not bothered to relieve him of that one small item, but he would have preferred something a bit more useful. He placed his hands into his trouser pockets and listened. All was silent. The guards were, more than likely, asleep at their posts. Fagin felt a yawn coming on and could not help but let his lids close down upon his blood-shot eyes. He felt his head begin to fall upon his chest and then, just before drifting completely, he jolted himself awake with startling ferocity. He needed to keep thinking; this was no time for wasteful slumber.

He lifted his head and stared over at the Dodger. The boy was fast asleep under his coat. His breathing was barely perceptible in the gloom and the fading candle light. Fagin lifted himself off the ground and tiptoed over to the iron door. The guards were asleep as he had figured; they were each hunched against the walls with their heads down and their eyes closed. One of the men, then, began to snore. The old Jew nearly jumped with the startling appearance of that noise. He placed his hand over his heart and breathed deeply to calm himself. He leant against the bars for a bit and then, once he had regained his composure, made his way towards the opposite wall; the one with the barred window. Once there, he grabbed two of the bars in his hands and dragged himself up so as to be able to see out at the rest of the world. There was nothing but dark sky and a couple of other buildings in view. Once his muscles began to shake from the stress of holding up his lank form, he let himself down until his feet touched the dirt floor.

Now, stress was mounting and he was becoming more and more melancholy. He stared around at the brick walls. Having, apparently, no other hope, he began to walk quietly around the cell and tap at the walls with his fists. He tapped up and down, all around the room, until his hands became red, swollen, and tender to the touch. Next, he tried listening for any sounds that might come through the walls. But, this too proved a dead end; there were no trap doors, loose bricks, or any other means of escape.

Fagin went back to his original position on the floor, against the wall. The room seemed to become even blacker than before and the silence seemed to deepen. He went over all the plans he had thought of previously and that he had discarded as useless. Finding them all a deal more impossible now, he went into a dazed existence. Nothing mattered anymore, the surroundings faded, he felt no pain and he lost all ability to show and feel emotion.

Several hours later, Dodge awoke to find that he was covered with something. He felt around and recognized the old Jew's velvet coat. The boy smiled and turned over onto his back. He pulled the coat up to his chin and looked about the room. Fagin was slumped against the wall, asleep. The room was lighter in color because the sun was spreading its early rays across the city; and that light filtered through the window. It was then that the Dodger realized that his sight was not so blurred and distorted. He blinked a few times to make sure and found that this was the case. Next he focused on his throat - he swallowed and discovered that it was not so sore as it had been. He reached out his arm and grabbed the cup of mineral water. He put it to his lips and took a sip. He decided, with new hope, that his stomach was not so agitated, as it had been, and that he would probably hold down the water after all! He shifted back over to lay on his side. The rustling noise that resulted awoke the old Jew.

Fagin rubbed his eyes and, seeing that the boy was awake and smiling, went over to inspect him.

"Fagin . . ," the boy began as the Jew approached.

"Shhhhh. . . My dear, you are going to strain yourself. Not good at all, my dear; you'll only get worse if you do."

"But, Fagin," continued Dodge smiling, "I'm feeling loads . ."

"Worse. I know, my dear," Fagin straightened his coat and tucked it tightly around the boy's body. He then kneeled down and whispered in the boy's ear, "you are not helping things, my dear. I don't want them to know you are better!" he winked and grinned at the Dodger.

"I don't get it," Dodge gave a clueless expression.

Fagin shook his head and gave a disapproving glare. He then bent over the boy once more and explained his actions, "I need you to act dead. They will need to get you out of here as quickly as possible, my dear. Once the undertaker arrives, we can run for it. You understand?"

Dodge nodded as comprehension dawned. He went as still as he could and tried to shallow his breathing. Fagin smiled and went over to the door of the cell.

"My good sir," he addressed one of the guards, "an undertaker must be summoned; the boy is dead, I believe."

"Dead?!" the guard came over to the door and took out his key. He unlocked the door and walked into the room. He bent over the boy to check his condition.

Fagin, seizing the opportunity, slipped his fingers inside the guard's pocket. He pulled out the key and stored it in one of his trouser pockets.

"I don't think he's dead," the guard said flatly. He walked over to the door and felt in his pocket for the key. Finding only his pipe, he walked over to Fagin and began to frisk him, "Aha! There it is. My overseer will hear about this," he shoved the old Jew onto the floor and left the cell, locking it behind himself.

The boy opened his eyes and took a deep breath, "Why'd you change the plan?!" he leered at Fagin in anger, "We could've gotten out!"

Fagin got up slowly off the floor and bowed his head in apology. He wrung his hands and spoke, "I'm sorry, my dear. I . . lost my head there . . . I know I shouldn't have . . ."

"Now what?" Dodger's expression changed to a worried stare, "They won't believe you if you pull something else."

Fagin nodded and went back to contemplation. There was only one other way that he could escape, but it would have to wait until a later time.

**There's the second part. I hope everyone is enjoying this. It's too bad that they didn't get away. Oh well, maybe next time! - Elaine Dawkins**


	9. Unexpected Associate

**Unexpected Associate**

_Bill and Leanne continue farther on their journey. Leanne meets someone with whom her father shares a terrible history. She tries to do something about this._

Bill drove the carriage for an hour before he was forced to stop. The clouds had shrouded the sun, once more, and he could no longer be sure of their direction. They were still following the path; it probably did continue to go in a northern direction, but Bill did not want to take any chances. He released the horses and they made camp for the second time that day. They would have to stay the night because the sun would eventually be setting and it was too much to bother with; traveling for short periods and stopping to set up camp all the time. Bill loathed the delays that the weather was causing. He would have cursed it or sent out a terrible oath if it had not been for his daughter's presence; he held his tongue.

Leanne did not bother too much about the weather. She was not much of a traveller - in fact, she had never even gone farther than six miles from her mother's cottage. But now, after being out for about a two days and finding out that Bill was her father, she became freer and less worried about what happened. She figured that they would have a wonderful adventure and that, in due course, she would be taken back to her mom. Then, her parents would get back together and they would live happily forever!

After Bill had announced their predicament, Leanne asked if she could walk around and explore the area. Bill figured that that would be fine, as long as she did not venture too far and get lost. She promised that she would not get lost and made her way through the grass.

The landscape had become less boggy and they were now surrounded by glassy ponds and fields with fragrant blooms and gray grasses. Leanne traversed one of the fields. The small, purple flowers, that made up a majority of the plant-life, grew up to her waist. She picked a few of the plants and made a small bouquet. The blooms smelled like a perfume that her mother sometimes wore on special occasions. She took a deep breath and smiled; _Sweet lavender_. She placed the flowers in a pocket and walked on. After a while, she suddenly flopped down onto the ground. She turned onto her back and looked up at the sky. The clouds were a light gray and were framed by the lavender blooms that stood atop the tall, lime-green stems that surrounded her on every side. She took another deep breath and then exhaled. The stems swayed in the light breeze. Leanne savored this time by herself. It felt quite magical to lay down in a field and to know that no one could see her. She closed her eyes and began to hum to herself.

On finishing the tune, she decided to explore farther. She turned over onto her hands and began to crawl forward through the grasses. She likened this new feeling to that of a tiger strolling through its jungle. She steadied the movements of her arms and legs, feeling every muscle move and twitch as she went forward. She was one of the grand, royal beasts on the prowl; her whiskers twitching, her ears sharp and alert, her hind legs ready to spring on her pray, and her claws ready to battle anything that crossed her territory. It was ecstasy! She imagined that if she came across a looking glass, she would inevitably see an orange tiger with black stripes and green, glowing eyes staring back at her.

A rustling sound came from ahead, followed by two voices. Leanne crouched and flattened her body to the ground as closely as she could. She purposefully tensed her muscles in preparation for a spring.

The sound became louder as it came closer. Leanne closed her eyes and tensed even more. Something was coming through the grass at a good pace. Then, the sound stopped. Leanne felt something or someone staring at her. She opened her eyes and saw two brown boots. She gradually lifted her head; There were leggings, knickers, a corduroy jacket, and then, a face. It was a boy, about her own age. He was carrying a small parcel in his left hand and he wore a linen sporting cap upon his blond head.

"What are you doing?" asked the boy, with a concerned look upon his face.

"Just playing."

"Here," the boy extended his right hand and pulled Leanne out of the jungle. He smiled and asked, "Where did you come from?"

Leanne turned about and pointed in the opposite direction, "My dad's back that way."

"Why are you wearing pajamas . . . and you're not wearing any shoes?"

Leanne brushed the dust off her nightgown and tried to come up with a good explanation for her strange attire, "They're really comfortable," was all she could say. Then, to refocus his attention, she asked him a question, "Who are you?"

"Oliver Maylie. I'm here on a trip. I'm camping nearby with Mr. Losberne, a friend of my family's."

"Oh, so . . ." Leanne could find nothing to say so she paused and giggled a couple of times and exclaimed, "I've lost my head. I don't know what to say!"

Oliver laughed and said, "What's your name then?"

"Leanne Doris - no, no, that's wrong!" she giggled again. Oliver waited, a smile on his face. "I mean," began Leanne, turning red in the checks, "My name is Leanne Sikes!"

Oliver frowned. Leanne stopped mid-giggle and her features changed to an attitude of bewilderment and confusion, "What's the matter?"

"What's your father's first name?"

"Bill," Leanne said softly, hoping that the boy would not be offended.

Oliver's eyes widened at this and several questions rushed into his brain. He decided to ask them all, "Are you really his daughter? Was your mother Nancy? Is he cruel to you? Did he force you to dress that way? Why are you here?"

Leanne thought for a moment before answering, "Yes - to the first question, No, he's very nice, I don't really want to answer two of the other questions, and - Who is Nancy?"

"She was Bill's girlfriend. The one he lived with when he worked for Fagin," Oliver's grip tightened on the parcel and his face turned melancholy.

"Bill is separated from my mom, Linda Doris," she replied and then looked down at the ground, "Who's Fagin?"

Oliver shook his head with a pitying expression on his face, "He's no one. No one important, that's all." He looked around, "You won't mention me to your father will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to. Why don't you like him?"

The boy looked her in the eye and said honestly, "I knew him not long ago - he was - well, we didn't get along very well. Do you want to see our camp?"

"Sure!"

Oliver grasped her arm and led her off toward the edge of the field.

There was a grove of oak trees that stood a fair distance away. They were very big with their boughs entangled with each other making a green canopy. Beneath the branches, on the ground, there was a tent. A fire had been lit a few feet away and a middle-aged man was tending to something in an iron skillet on top of it.

"Mr. Losberne!" called Oliver as they walked nearer, "This is Leanne. She's camping nearby, too!"

Mr. Losberne looked up and came over. He smiled and took Leanne by the hand, "Very pleased to make your acquaintance! We are going to have dinner here soon; would you like to join us?"

"No, thank you,"she answered, smiling, "I can't stay too long."

"Alright," replied Mr. Losberne, "You'll just have to miss out on the trout."

"Oh, I'm not much of a fish eater. I like to eat things like duck. My dad knows how to make something called duck a l'orange. It's really good!"

"You don't say! Well that is quite a bit of work, wouldn't you say Oliver?"

"Definitely!" he answered and went over to inspect the fish. "I think it's done cooking," he

replied after a short pause.

"I'll get the plates and forks then!" said Mr. Losberne and he went over towards the tent.

"I need to get going. I'm sorry," Leanne apologized and turned to head back.

"It was very nice meeting you," Mr. Losberne stuck his head out of the tent and waved.

"I'll walk you part of the way back," offered Oliver. He came over and grabbed her hand.

They walked back out into the field. Leanne was so amazed at Oliver. He was extremely polite and seemed honest to a perfect degree. She wished that she could spend some more time with him. She decided to ask him if he would come all the way back with her.

"Oliver, couldn't you just come and say hello to my dad? He won't bite you!"

Oliver shook his head, "Thanks, but no. I don't think - no, that's put wrong - I _know_ that that wouldn't be a good idea. But, I can give you my address. You could write to me if you want to."

"I really would!"

Oliver scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to her, "I'll have to go back now. Fish is waiting. Have a good trip . . . I'll be praying for you!" And with that he turned and walked away.

Leanne stowed the note in her pocket and walked back to the road. Bill was sitting on the ground with the provisions spread far and wide upon the grass. He was evidently trying to decide what they would eat for dinner.

"Where did yer go? I was beginin' ter worry somethin' awful!" he frowned and pulled Leanne down onto the grass.

"I just lost track of time, that's all. What's for dinner?"

"Canned pork an' beans," he handed her a can.

Leanne wanted to ask about Nancy, the lady that Oliver had mentioned, but decided not to for fear that she would break her promise of secrecy. She concentrated on eating and concluded that Nancy was not important and that what really mattered was that she was spending time with her father and that he seemed to be happy to be in her company.

**The new characters were probably pretty surprising! At least, I hope they were! Please leave a review! I want to thank Charlene Bates, Broken Amethyst, and Protego Totalum for their generous reviews! - Elaine Dawkins**


	10. The Return part three

**The Return (part three)**

_The Dodger is faced with a new fact: he must learn to care for himself; if not for a little while, then for the rest of his life. Fagin continues on with some new hope._

The last four days had passed with the speed and excitement of a snail traversing a mile-long cobblestone path. The present turned into the past with such a dawdling manner and seemed to go without any change, delight, or enthusiasm. This was mostly to be blamed on the drab atmosphere that the jail provided and on the pending time that seemed to be hanging in the balance - that is - Fagin and Dodge both knew that something had to happen at some point; either they would be set free, their time would be protracted to lifetime, or their very lives would be confiscated.

Fagin knew that his time was almost over. He had five more days left to dwell on God's good earth. This caused him to become more and more reflective as time progressed. He thought about his past - with regret, his present - with distain, and his future - with a mixture of sorrow and panic. That morning had been heralded in by the sound of builders working in the yard behind the jail. The old Jew had been startled by the sound of nails being driven into solid wood poles; the makings of his, personal gallows. Thud, . . . thud, . . . thud! They were solemnly pounded with hammers, each sound echoing in the hallway and in the cell. Fagin found himself gnawing at his knuckles in anticipation and worry. He could only think of one more way of escape, but it relied heavily on chance and luck. He had poured over every other means of flight and had found them all impossible. He tried to hide his misgivings from the Dodger. The boy was counting on his leadership and he did not want to cause him any more suffering than he was already receiving.

Dodge's illness had taken a surprising turn. His fever had increased back up several degrees. He had regressed back to coughing up phlegm, shivering and shaking with cold flashes, and he was, once again, having trouble with digestion. The doctor had been called out that morning to find out what had caused such a misfortune. He had a brief look at Dodge and then confirmed that he was right back where he had started. More mineral water was poured down the boy's throat and the doctor decided that bleeding was the best cure. Fagin had stood nearby, unable to aid his protege, as two of the guards pinned the boy to the cot and the doctor, after rolling up Dodge's sleeve, made a cut in his left wrist. Dodge's arm was then draped over the side of the bed and allowed to drip the scarlet contents of his body into a tin cup on the floor. The doctor lounged about until the cup was full and then clotted the cut with gauze and wrapped it over with strips of cloth. More water was forced down the boy's throat and he was then left to himself.

Fagin walked over, after the doctor had gone, and examined Dodge himself. He knew that bleeding was an ordinary cure; the one that was proscribed for everything from simple colds to death-bringing tuberculosis, but he had never agreed with the medical profession about its usefulness. He remembered having it done several times during his childhood. He had hated it and it had often made him faint and weak; it never healed him.

"Dodge?" The Jew grabbed the boy's left wrist and looked at it, "Feeling any better, my dear?"

Dodge made to sit up and Fagin pushed him back down onto the pillow, "I feel worse. Dizzy . . . and my head is aching." He pulled his right hand, involuntarily, to his temple and rubbed it until his hat was forced off his head by the movement.

"I couldn't do anything about it, my dear . . . They would have prevented me," he let go of the lacerated wrist and then began to straighten and button the Dodger's blue coat. Once finished and satisfied with this mode of assurance and comfort, Fagin left the bedside and walked over to the iron bars. He had a hurried conversation with one of the more pleasant guards. A minute later, he came back over to the Dodger, carrying an old, leather-bound Bible. He handed it to the boy and then eased him into a sitting position.

Dodge had been surprised beyond belief, "Are things that bad?" He was loosing hope of ever being let out of the cell and he figured that, according to the old Jew's demeanor of the past few days, they were both going to get what they deserved and had better repent before they were judged by The Almighty.

The boy took the Bible in both his hands and then let it fall open upon his lap. He looked up at Fagin, awaiting some sort of terrible intelligence.

"Turn it to page eight-hundred and eleven, my dear," Fagin strolled over to the window.

Dodge did as he was instructed. The yellowed pages crinkled as he turned them and some of the loose leaves fell out. He came to the said page and looked back up at the old Jew.

"Does it say 'The Song of Solomon?'" Fagin sat down on the edge of the filthy cot.

"Yes."

"You might find that interesting, my dear . . . I always enjoyed that part the best when I was young. It will give you something to do."

Dodge tilted down his head and read the first few lines. A smile crept across his face and he read even farther with a quickened speed. After a while he paused and gazed up, grinning, "I didn't know the Bible had stuff like this in it! I would have read it a long time ago if I had known!"

Fagin looked over and their eyes met. He grinned and the Dodger went back to his reading.

"There are also other entertaining parts in the book of Leviticus," Fagin spoke quietly after a short pause. "I'll have to see if I can still find them."

The rest of the day was spent in reading the seemingly explicit parts of the Old Testament. By the time the sun had dropped below the horizon and the two criminals had been forced to read by candle light for several hours, the Dodger had slipped into a weary and drowsy existence. His eyes had started to blink in attempt to stay awake. Fagin insisted that they quit for the night and placed the book on the floor. Dodge smiled, shut his eyes, and sighed. Things did not seem so terrible at that instant; he felt that he had returned to Saffron Hill. They had just been reading before the fire in the small kitchen and were now heading off to sleep in their usual places. Nothing had changed; he would wake the next morning to the smell of sausages cooking, he would joke with Charley while they washed their faces in cool water, they would have breakfast, and then they would head off to work. Dodge rolled over and nestled his face in his pillow. Fagin had covered him with the velvet, green coat and Dodge pulled it tight about himself, feeling the warmth left by the Jew's body. He soon drifted off to sleep.

He was suddenly awoken by a soft voice. He opened his drowsy eyes and saw that the old Jew was bent over him. He was whispering something.

"Whoa - what?" Dodge tried to turn over, but Fagin prevented him from doing so.

"I need to tell you something, my dear," he looked away and then continued in an even softer voice than before, "You will get out in three days, my dear. They have a certain period of time that you are supposed to serve before you are let out. I will try to get out by myself."

"No," whispered Dodge, "I'll stay . . ."

Fagin covered the boy's mouth with his hand and continued as if he had not been interrupted, "You must go back to the house, my dear. If you need help, Bet can aid you. Stay in Saffron Hill until I come. If I don't show up by Tuesday, then you will stay with Bet. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded and the Jew removed his hand, "Not to worry, my dear . . . I have a plan." And with that, he strode away and got down on the floor in order that he might sleep with his back against the far wall.

Dodge found the whole idea disturbing, but he did not have much time to think it through; he fell back asleep within a minute.

The next few days were filled with surprise for all who entered or lived in the jail. Dodge became well within two days. His temperature went to normal and all his symptoms stopped. The guards thought that it was some sort of intervention from God until is was found that the boy had heard he was soon going to be set free. "As usual," one of the guards commented, "They get well just in time to leave. It almost always happens that way."

By the third day, the boy was at the peak of physical health. He was in an excited mood and wore a grin all morning. His mood turned to a new high when, after lunch, a guard came to the door with a key. Dodge jumped up off his cot and ran over to the guard, a look of exuberant joy on his face.

The old Jew looked up, but did not speak. He was resentful of the fact that that very guard had shoved his old personage to the ground, previously and that Dodge was leaving him without any apparent remorse.

The guard ignored Fagin and addressed the Dodger, "Your being let go today. Magistrate's orders and parliament wont allow you to stay in here a day longer because they think you can't understand your own actions," he gave a look that plainly showed that he disagreed with this idea. "Let me tell you something, young man. I don't want to see you in here again and if I do, well then, I hope you are old enough to receive a decent sentence. Now, come on." He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and marched him through the door.

Dodge, remembering Fagin, looked back and gave a small smile. He waved and then followed the guard down the passageway.

Fagin jumped to his feet and went over to the bars. He watched as Dodge exited out of two iron gates. He leant against the bars and sighed. His heart became heavier than it had been and he found himself wondering if he would ever see his young friend again.

The guard, who had brought the Bible to Fagin, walked over and placed his hands in his pockets in a casual manner, "That must feel painful."

Fagin eyed the guard, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I understand," the guard continued, "He's your grandson, right?"

"Why yes he is, my dear," Fagin nodded his head in what he hoped was a convincing attitude of agreement.

"I suppose you pick-pocket because you can't afford to raise him on just your life savings? That's tragic . . ," the guard whistled and looked Fagin in the eye. "I hate to see things like that - you're not a hardened criminal - there's nothing wrong with trying to survive," he paused, "I'll see if I can't help you out a little." He smiled and walked away.

Fagin was in a very astonished state. He might get out - that is - without doing anything risky? Hallelujah! He wrung his hands with glee and did something that he had not done for a very long time; he thanked God. After doing this little act of gratitude, he went over to the cot and took some much needed rest.

**That's a wrap! I hope everyone found this chapter encouraging! This story is not supposed to be a tragedy - although is may seem so at times. Please LEAVE A REVIEW!!! I don't like it when people read and don't leave me any feedback - it makes me upset and annoyed! - Elaine Dawkins**


	11. One More Time

**One More Time**

_Leanne can't resist visiting Oliver one more time. She is saddened to learn that they will be leaving soon._

The sky began to darken as the sun set below the horizon. It faded from navy, in the east, to light, aqua blue, and then to gray in the west. The landscape became full of dark shades and black-shrouded silhouettes. Bill had spent the last hour boiling a jar-full of water from a nearby lake. They needed drinking water and this was the better than taking it straight and having a bout of dysentery from the bacterial organisms that pervaded it. He knew that it would be needed and that he must boil some before he ran out of matches - which he was coming close to being out of.

The fire had not died out completely so he set out another jar of water on it. He kicked the previously heated jar out of the fire with his boot because he had nothing to grab it with. The glass jar rolled down a small slope and rested on a patch of cool grass. Leanne walked over to it.

"Yer not gonna want ta touch that . . ," Bill warned, "That's burning hot. Set yer fingers ta blazin'."

Leanne pulled back her hand and walked over to Bill, "Are we going to be leaving soon?" She kneeled next to her father and prodded the fire with a long twig.

"Not tonight. It's too dark to see where we're goin'. Early tomorrow, hopefully," Bill looked back up at the sky. "Wind's pickin' up a mite. Best get yerself ta bed," he pointed toward the carriage.

Leanne nodded and then, walking over to Bill, gingerly gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Good night!" She giggled feeling his side-burns brush her lips.

Bill was used to this sort of thing. Nancy had often done that before bed - unless they had had a disagreement. The only problem was that he had always responded with mild interest, resentment, or plain annoyance. None of these moods suited the occasion or his guilt-prompted change of character. He paused and then caught her by the arm as she made to leave. He then pulled her a bit closer and patted her shoulder. "G'night," he replied and then let go. Leanne smiled and then walked away, carefully watching where she stepped; avoiding rocks and other sharp things that would cut her unshod feet.

Making it to the carriage, she climbed up onto the passenger side of the vehicle. The wind blew by and she hugged the velvet seat with her body. The air had cooled as the sun had set and even though it was summer, the wind was crisp like early autumn. She wished that he had a coat or cape to drape over herself to block the wind. Leanne changed positions and laid herself out lengthwise across the seat while turning to face the opposite direction of the gale. Finding that her limbs were still covered with goose-bumps, she pulled her body into a tight ball with her legs and arms bent close to her abdomen. That was better, until her muscles began to stiffen. Leanne tried to keep her mind off the weather. She thought about Bill. Another smile crept across her face; her dad, the kind, entertaining, resourceful, burly man. He was what she had always wanted in a father - he was tough, but not too tough. And he liked her! Now that was definitely a plus! Her mind strayed some more and she thought about Oliver. She pictured his face, his clothes, his warm campsite - No! She needed to avoid thinking about tents and warm fires. That would only cause her to suffer even more. She tried to focus only on Oliver and she found, after thinking about his facial features such as his nose and the way his eyes gleamed with warmth, that she was - well - in love. At least that is what she thought, though it was more of a crush. But why? He was a boy for goodness sake. Boys were the enemy. _Were _the enemy! There was that past tense; they were no longer the stupid, grubby, hair-pulling weasels that they were. At least, Bill and Oliver weren't rude.

_Oliver!_ Oh, that wonderful name. Leanne giggled just thinking about it. Her face flushed and she felt hot all of a sudden. Supposing that they would write for a couple of years; eventually there would be romantic letters from Oliver telling her of his passion and how she was his lovely angel! She would respond with outpourings of her deepest wishes and feelings. He would surprise her with a visit some night; he would place a ladder against her bedroom window and then whisk her off to paradise! They would marry in a small, country church with flowers, an orchestra, candles, and be surrounded by relatives to wish them well. Leanne pictured herself in her dream wedding gown. It was white silk with a skirt filled with tulle. She was carrying a overflowing bouquet of lilacs and daisies. She was walking up the isle to the usual organ music. Oliver was standing near the priest, wearing . . . . . . . a nightshirt and cap!

Leanne jumped in shock. She opened her eyes and blinked. She was in the carriage and Bill was fast asleep beside her. She tugged on her garment and felt the flannel of her nightgown. She had been asleep - had dreamed about Oliver and he had ruined her perfect wedding with his horrible garb! She sighed and then closed her eyes again, knowing, or maybe praying, that that would never happen.

The morning dawned and the carriage was bathed in sunlight. Bill was, as was his usual custom, sifting through the canned goods, looking for something that seemed more or less breakfasty.

"Le'nne!" he called, "Breakfast! I found some canned pears! Better come before I eat them all!"

Leanne stiffened off the seat and pulled her messy hair behind her ears to keep it from hanging down in her face. She ran her fingers through it in a hurried manner and then proceeded to travel to the early picnic. She loped onto the grass and Bill handed her a jar. She ate it quickly and then asked if she could be excused.

"Alright," replied Bill.

"I need to use the . . . I need to powder my nose," she was not going to say what she usually said to her mother. Saying the words "bathroom," "outhouse," or "loo" didn't seem right.

Bill nodded with understanding, "Make it quick! I want ta get out of here while the sun is out!"

Leanne went off into a thicket of oaks and came to the lavender field. She ran across it in a quick run. The flowers swayed as she passed and everything blurred as she sped by. Coming to the edge of the field, she stopped. The camp was still here! She did not understand why she had worried that it would be gone. Maybe, she believed that she had dreamt up her meeting with Oliver and Mr. Losberne like she had done her marriage. That was silly of her! She tossed her head and walked closer.

She came to the grove of trees and found Oliver. He was standing over a tub of water and was washing his face. Leanne was stunned to find that he had no shirt on; just his trousers.

"A-hm," she announced her presence.

Oliver splashed some more water on his face and rubbed it with his hands. Once finished, he looked up. His eyes widened and he immediately moved down into a crouching position behind the tub. Only his face and shoulders were to be seen.

"Sorry!" Leanne gave a short laugh and covered her mouth with her hand.

"You're sorry!" Oliver was in a right state, "I should be the one saying that! Me, barely dressed and you - you're a girl and you see me like this!"

"I just wanted to say goodbye," Leanne looked down at her feet in shame.

"That's alright. You didn't know any better. Wait. Shut your eyes! I'm going to get my shirt. Then I'll lead you back," he lowered his voice. "I've got to get you out of here before Mr. Losberne returns."

"Why?"

"He's gone to wash himself. You don't need to see him in the same state, too. It's improper!"

Oliver fetched his shirt. While he was turned about, Leanne sneaked a peek at him and then covered her eyes once more. She didn't think he looked so bad . . .

Once Oliver had finished, he grabbed her left hand and they went back to the middle of the field.

"I'll have to let you take it from here," Oliver looked around uneasily, "Don't forget to write. I was thinking about it and we should use code names. You can call me . . . um . . ."

"Mark?" asked Leanne.

"That will do. Once you settle somewhere, you can give me your address and I'll be able to write back."

"Alright."

"Well, bye then. God bless!" And with that, he ran back towards the tree grove.

Leanne waved until he was out of sight and then, remembering Bill, ran as fast as she could back to the carriage, trying to come up with some reason for her lengthened restroom break.

**Hope everyone enjoyed that one. I don't usually like romance stories, but this isn't going to go too far - their only kids! Please Review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	12. The Return part four

**The Return (part four)**

_In which is seen how pitying and pathetic an old man can be when he is in dire straights. To an advantage, Fagin's sentence becomes less severe; thanks to a soft-hearted guard, a sympathetic jury, and a daft, hurried Judge._

Later that night, a jury was called together to review a case involving an elderly criminal, charged with theft. The case had been closed, or so the magistrates thought, until a guard of the prison was able to convince them of Fagin's real reasons for lawbreaking. Fagin was brought before Mr. Howe Printon, a well honored judge, and placed on a wooden chair in the dock. He was allowed no lawyer, but had to state and defend his own case, in the hopes that the jury would have pity on his age and station in life.

Mr. Howe Printon walked into the room and everyone stood up. The judge walked to his seat, his black robes billowing behind him and his curly, white wig trying to escape off his shiny, bald head. He sat down and straightened his wig, grabbed the gavel and gave it a few satisfactory hits against the bench, shuffled through a pile of papers set before him, placed a pair of spectacles upon his long nose, and then looked around the room as if he was surprised to see so many bodies present. He cleared his throat, "You may be seated now."

Everyone sat down and he began to shuffle through the papers on his desk in a quick frenzy. "Let's see," he mumbled to himself, "Burglary . . . pick-pocketing . . . hmmm . ." He eyed Fagin with much scrutiny and then called to a man in the corner of the room who was taking note of the proceedings with ink and quill, "Why are we reviewing this?"

The man with the ink put down his pad of paper and answered, "They think he has reasons for doing those things, Your Honor."

The Judge snorted with disgust and then proceeded, "Let's make this quick. Someone bring a Bible and swear him in!"

One of the police officers, who stood on one side of the dock, went away and returned a few seconds later with an old Bible. He placed it before Fagin and the Jew placed his right hand on it out of new habit.

The officer began to say the usual, "Place your right hand on the Bible." Fagin looked over at him and then down at his hand in annoyance. _Probably can't say the whole thing without starting from the beginning! The idiot! Can't he see that my hand is already on the Book! _

The officer went on with boredom in every syllable, "Now, repeat after me. I swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."

Fagin sighed, "I swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."

"You may be seated," said Mr. Howe Printon. He paused for a minute, "No . . . You may stand up."

Fagin stood up and leant on the dock, trying to appear more feeble than he actually was.

"Do you have anything to tell the jury in defense of your crimes?"

"Yes, my dear. I . . ."

"What was that?!" came a voice from one of the officers, "What did you call him?!"

"I . . . I . . I what?" the old Jew was caught off-guard. He looked about the room in confusion and worry.

"What did you call him?!"

The jury started to become restless and they whispered to one another; "Poor old man," "What a mistake!," "Doesn't know how these proceedings work," and other exclamations of the like. The tittering became noisier as more men joined in the discussions.

The judge slammed his gavel down in irritation at the clamor, "Order! Order!"

The jury became silent and everyone who had stood up went back to their seats.

"Now! Let us proceed!"

"A word, Your Honor? Please?" the same officer begged leave to speak.

"What is it Sergeant Matthews?"

"I would like to address the defendant."

Mr. Howe Printon leant back in his chair and waved at the officer in a bothersome attitude, "Go on."

"You," reprimanded the officer, "Are to address him as Your Honor, not 'my dear!'"

Fagin nodded and leant further on the dock, "It was a mistake . . . You see I . . ."

"Now he's talking without leave, Your Honor!" Sergeant Matthews glared at Fagin and fumbled with his hat, which he held in both hands.

The judge rolled his eyes toward Heaven and began to tap his index finger on the papers afore him, "Whatever! Let's get on with it! I want to end by eight - I am meeting with Judge Philipps in forty-five minutes. Now, what have you to state, Mr. Fagin?"

The old Jew, who had sat down, stood up, eyed the officer, and said, "Your Honor, I would like to say that Jack Dawkins is my dear grandson. I have been raising him by myself for many years. I use my life savings to afford to feed and clothe him. My money is not enough to continue to do so, therefore, I began to steal. I cannot find any employment because of my advanced age - they don't want me because I am retired and my health may fail or I may die at any time. I didn't want to send Jack to an orphanage and I did not want to endanger him by sending him to work in a factory. That is all."

Mr. Howe Printon pulled out his pocket watch and examined it. He placed it back in his robe's pocket and announced, "The jury will leave the courtroom and vote on this issue. We will give sentence in ten minutes." He got up and the wig fell off his head. He picked it up, placed it back on his head, and strode from the room, holding it on with his left hand.

The men of the jury took up their hats and left the room. One of the officers came over to the dock, "I would take you back to your cell, but ten minutes is not that long. Do you need anything?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, my dear."

The officer went quiet and Fagin began to think back through all that had been said or done during the last half hour. He had made the mistakes of calling the judge by the wrong title and he had spoken out of turn. Those weren't enough, surely, to place him back on his death sentence. But, what if his story was unbelievable or what if they found proof that Dodger was not his grandson? Unveiling those lies would lead to further punishment. The old Jew began to wonder whether or not this was actually causing more harm than good. Perhaps he could walk away with a lighter sentence - something like five to ten years in prison or hard labor, but these meant that he would not see the Dodger for quite some time. The boy would probably believe that he had been hung; there was no way of winning in this game, it was all chance and he might come out with a compromise between himself and the law or he might come out with a death penalty; either way, he would lose.

Fagin began to gnaw at his knuckles as he always did when nervous. He began to wonder why ten minutes seemed so long, when the jury returned, followed by the bumbling judge. _Why did they even need a judge? _The Jew pondered this new thought, _The jury does the sentencing, so why have a judge? For comic relief, probably! _Fagin felt a smile crease his face and tried to stifle it immediately.

The judge sat down and silence prevailed, "What is the jury's verdict?"

One of the men in the jury stood up, "Your Honor, we have decided that the said Mr. Fagin is guilty - but, not as charged. We have come to the conclusion that his sentence was too strict. We propose that he be sent from the country."

Fagin twisted in his seat and raised his hand toward the judge with a pleading expression on his face. He then, waved his hand like an excited schoolboy who knows the right answer when given a question by his teacher.

Mr. Howe Printon looked down his long nose, at Fagin, in a distracted manner, "Wait! Yes? What have you to say?"

Fagin pulled himself off the seat and asked, "What about my grandson? Will I ever see him again?!"

"Where is he?"

"At the home of a friend of mine."

"He shall go with you, then."

The old Jew made another motion with his hand, "If I may, Your Honor?"

The judge nodded and leant back in his chair.

"Where are we to go?"

"I don't care! Go anywhere out of the country! We'll give you a sum and you can use that to pay for travel - Just get out of my sight!" The judge looked around at the whole courtroom before banging his gavel and yelling, "Dismissed!"

Fagin placed his hat back on his head and watched as everyone filed out through the doors that lined the back wall. After most of the crowd had exited, he was led away to an adjacent room. There, he received twenty pounds in cash and was then told to leave.

"By the way," called one of the guards, as Fagin made his way out of the prison, "You need to leave by tomorrow evening. We will be expecting to receive word that you have bought a ticket and that you are on some boat, headed for some destination. We will know if you are still within England!"

Fagin turned and nodded in reply. He walked through a pair of double-doors and found himself back on the wonderful, smoggy streets of London. He began to walk in the direction of Bet's flat, picking up speed as the distance between himself and the jail increased. He was a bit saddened to be leaving this town, but this was a much better situation to be in than the one that he had had previously.

**I hope that was a surprise! I wonder how the Dodger will take to this new state of affairs? We'll just have to see! Please leave a review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	13. South end on Sea

**South-end-on-Sea**

_Bill and Leanne come to a small village on the coast of The English Channel. They decide on a new mode of transportation that will take them to an ideal location. _

Leanne came jumping through the brush. She ran right into Bill, who was searching around for her. She hit one of his legs and was knocked backward onto her back. Bill looked down at her and she looked up, smiling.

"What in the name of . . ?" Bill coughed to stop himself from using too colorful a language.

Leanne pushed herself up and smoothed her nightgown, "Sorry . . . I got a bit turned around," she apologized.

"Next time, don't go out so far. Now, we need ter get goin'. The sun's already halfway up to the noon hour. Come on." Bill took her hand and led her back to the carriage.

They rode non-stop for five hours, had a late lunch, and then headed on for another three hours. They stopped for dinner on the edge of a lake. It mirrored the sky and was surrounded by gray mountains and evergreen trees. There was a small section of the water that touched a rocky beach. It was about twenty feet long and about ten feet wide. It was covered with rocks and sand; obviously built by vacationers who wanted somewhere to moor their boats when done fishing. Here they paused for a rest and a sup. It was amazing that the place was so void of people since it was summer, but that suited Bill and he was glad of the fact that they would go unnoticed. He walked over to the water and dipped his hand into it. It was warm near the surface, where the rays from the sun kissed it, and cooler as it deepened. He pulled his hand out and then stuck one of his fingers in his mouth. Fresh water. "Le'nne! Come here."

She came over, stepping gingerly on the rocky beach, "What is it?"

"This water is unsalted. I need ter boil some more."

"What did you want me for?"

"I was just gonna say that yer may want ter take a dip. Yer know, a bath - only with yer clothes on."

Leanne pulled her hand up to her hair and ran her fingers through it. It was scraggly and stringy. It had small grains of dirt in it, caused by the clouds that puffed up as they rode along the dirt track. Yes, she did need a bath. She hoped that she had not looked that bad earlier when she had said goodbye to Oliver.

Balancing all her weight on one foot, she dipped the other into the water. It was a little cold. She pulled out her foot and stood, staring at the surface. She took a deep breath, gathered as much courage as she possessed and jumped. She landed a bit badly and fell over. The water covered her head and she found herself in a murky, gray-blue world, staring at several little, silvery minnows. Leanne opened her mouth in surprise and a flood of water entered her mouth. At that instant, she was lifted out of the lake by Bill, who had watched her go down seconds before. Leanne sputtered and coughed on the water that had gone down into her lungs and into her stomach. Bill carried her, in his arms, to the shore and there, laid her across one of his legs, face downward so that her stomach touched his thigh. He then pressed down on her lower back so that he could push the water out using the applied force of his leg, pushing it into her lower abdomen. Leanne choked a bit more and some of the water dribbled out of her mouth. Bill stopped after a minute of using this process and rolled her over to check her condition. Finding that she seemed normal, he set her down on the ground.

"Yer alright? That was dangerous! Don't yer ever go jumping into a lake again! Yer don't know how deep or shallow it is! Yer could've cracked yer head open on a rock or drowned - WHICH YER ALMOST DID! Now here!" he threw his coat on top of her now that he had finished his threats. As punishment, he left her alone and walked off to watch the fire by himself.

Leanne felt terrible; not only bodily, but emotionally. She had definitely made Bill angry - in fact, more than angry; he was livid. She had never seen him get angry before; moody yes, but not mad. He had been fairly cheerful the past couple of days; what with the duck and all, but now that was in the past. Leanne sniffed as her nose began to run a bit. She rubbed her eyes and tried not to cry. It would be just like her to start sobbing at a time like this! Why did she half to be so emotional?

The girl pulled the coat tighter around her body and looked over at Bill. He was placing more wood on the fire and paid no attention to her. Leanne stayed huddled on the ground for a good hour before Bill finally spoke.

"We need ter get goin'." Bill walked back to the carriage and Leanne followed, wishing that he would show some sign that everything was alright between them.

Bill helped her into the carriage, but felt in no mood to talk as they rode on. He reflected on the incident and found that he was actually mad at himself. He should have never let her go into the water alone. If she had drowned, it would have been his fault for being so irresponsible. He would have had to burry her body and that would add on to the blood-guilt that he already experienced. He had murdered Nancy, more than likely, he had killed his dog, and then he would have killed his own daughter. Bill thought the whole list quite revolting. Death seemed to follow him like a shadow. It didn't matter where he went or what he did; it haunted his mind.

Bill now tried to forget about the whole thing. He _needed_ to forget it. He looked up at the bright, blue sky and saw that the sun was beginning to head toward the western horizon. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted that it was half-past five. He replaced the watch back in his trouser pocket and focused on the road ahead.

After a while, they passed a small marker on the side of the track. It said, 'Ten Miles to South-end-on-Sea.' Bill furrowed his brows and wondered whether it was inhabited - that is, if it was a village, although, maybe it just meant that they had almost reached the coast. _Wait a minute_, thought Bill, _We can't be headin' for any ocean if we're goin' north! What happened?_ Bill blinked back up at the sun. It had shifted a bit and was no longer straight ahead. They were headed in a north-east direction! He had worried that that would happen; the road curved periodically to avoid landmarks such as hills and woods. It would be easy to get off course.

Having no other way to go and knowing that the carriage was not meant to travel over grass and between trees, Bill was forced to continue to follow the dirt track. Either way, if the place was inhabited, then they could stay for a bit and get some much needed rest and provisions.

They rode further and periodically there would be another marker; six miles, five miles, four miles. At 'three miles,' the road suddenly became paved with crushed rocks and a smearing of tar. A couple of farm houses verged the edges of the country and were barely visible. At 'two miles,' the houses began to multiply in number and they came across another sign that said, "The Outskirts." The road turned to cobblestones and there was a main street that was flanked on both sides by many small shops and a pub. Bill noted that there were a majority of fish shops. One which especially caught his eye because it advertised, in big lettering, '**The best sea trout this side of the English Channel! Get a pound for a five-pence!**' Bill decided to stop for a bit. He drove the carriage to the side of the street and reigned in the horses. He jumped down and walked toward the trout shop and looked in its windows. There were dried, salted fish hanging from racks and iced fish in barrels. There were several women within, looking at and buying the trout. Bill waited until they came out of the shop, laughing and talking, to go inside. An elderly man was sitting at a counter. He wore a boating cap and had a short, gray beard and mustache. He was writing in a notepad, but paused when Bill walked toward him.

"How many fish are there in a pound?" asked Bill.

"That depends on their size," the old man pulled out a pipe and lit it, "Two pounds is the common weight . . . So, I'd say about half a fish." He began to chuckle and he winked at Bill, "New here?"

Bill eyed him with a steady gaze and answered, "Just passin' through. Now, I would like two dried fish; so, I guess that would be four pounds." He gave a sarcastic stare and the old man busied himself with gathering together two sea trouts and placing them in a sack.

"Here you are, sir," he handed the sack to Bill and then held out his hand to receive the twenty-pence. Bill fumbled through his pockets and found his wallet. He handed the old man the money and then left the shop.

He found Leanne talking to another girl, who appeared to be a few years older. Leanne had dismounted the carriage, but she still wore Bill's coat. Bill walked over and Leanne stopped in mid-sentence.

"Dad," she smiled up at him, "This is Margaret. She's fifteen. She says that she has some old clothing that I can have. It's stuff from when she was my age. It's in really good condition and we can have it for free."

"It will only take me a couple of minutes to grab it, Mr. Sikes," Margaret nodded and added, "They're clean and my mom won't mind at all."

Bill was a bit surprised, but said that that was fine by him.

Margaret ran off in a hurry and Leanne was left alone with Bill. Bill said nothing more, but put the sack of trout in the carriage and got in.

Margaret came back very soon. She had several dresses slung over her arms, along with other apparel. She came to a halt in front of Leanne and began to hand over the goods, "There are five dresses and," she smiled, "I was able to find two really nice bonnets, a pair of white stockings, and a pair of boots. They're slightly worn, but better than bare feet!"

"Thank you so much!" Leanne hurriedly handed them off to Bill and then gave Margaret a hug.

Margaret grinned, "No trouble at all. Well, I need to get going. Have a safe trip!" She waved and then walked off.

Leanne climbed up into the carriage and looked at Bill. He was not smiling. She felt her happiness fade and she looked down at her feet, "Dad? Margaret also said that there is a good-sized city about a mile from here. She said we should head for it."

Bill nodded in reply and then said, "That's prob'ly that South-end-on-Sea. We'll head for it. We can find an inn and rest for the night. You can change yer clothing there."

South-end-on-Sea was about two-thirds as big as London, as it turned out. There were people everywhere. It was mostly a fishing community because it reached the sea. There were even more fish shops, there were also boat shops, bait shops, and shops that carried maps. Bill went inside one of these and found that they were exactly thirty-five miles from London. _That's all?!_ thought Bill, _We must have hit too many curves and bends!_ He put back the map that he had looked at and left the shop. They rode on down many different streets, choked with people; men and women selling, buying, traveling, heading home from work, and other things. Bill stopped to ask a tall, thin chimney-sweep where the nearest inn was. The man told him to go down two blocks and then go to the right, down Berry Hill Road. "You can't miss it!" he declared, "One of the nicest buildings in the area! Big windows, iron porches, newly tiled roof - the works!"

"How much does it cost to stay jus' one night?" Bill thought it sounded way beyond their meagre means.

"I'm thinking it's about five pounds for two."

"Alright. Thanks"

The chimney-sweep tipped his top-hat, "Glad to be of service."

"Wait!" called Bill, "One more thing."

The man walked back over and waited.

"Do you know what the most direct route is to Edinburgh?"

The sweep pulled off his hat and scratched the side of his head, "There's no direct route that I know of - you're talking a good three-hundred mile trip. I suppose the fastest route would be to use a boat and go through the North Sea. You can go down to the docks and ask around. There might be someone heading for that area. Sorry I can't help you much."

"That's alright," Bill slapped the horses across their backs with the reigns and they headed for the inn.

The inn was actually more of a hotel. It was a huge, red-brick building that boasted five stories of well-furnished rooms with bathrooms, beds, continental breakfasts, and maid service. They managed to acquire a room on the third floor, the last one available; only because a family had left early that morning.

Bill left Leanne in the room and headed for the docks to find out about any possible boats that they could join. Leanne placed her new clothing on one of the beds and began to rummage in all the dressers and night-stands. She eventually found a small pad of paper and an ink pen in one of the drawers. She sat down on a bed and began to write a letter to Oliver. It read:

_Dear Mark,_

_I have done a terrible thing. I almost drowned myself in a lake this afternoon. Bill was very mad and has barely spoken to me since. That is why I needed to write to you. You might understand. He's never been angry with me before and my insides hurt and I know it is my fault. I was a terrible daughter! I didn't do it on purpose, but it did happen. I need some comfort. I know you can't write back, but if you do read this I hope I will know somehow. We are leaving tomorrow (I think) on a boat for Edinburgh, Scotland (possibly, if we can get a boat). I have decided that, in order to know that you have read this, I will ask God to send me a sign. I will ask Him to send me someone my own age, who I can talk to and who can act in your place when you can't be with me. If this happens, which I know it will, I will know that you are praying for me and that you are thinking of me. I hope we will meet again and that God will bless you, too._

_Love, Leanne_

_P.S. I was given some dresses, bonnets, stockings, and shoes by a really nice girl named Margaret. She is fifteen and really sweet. Now that I have normal clothing; the next time you see me, you won't recognize me! I look more like my old self!_

Leanne finished writing and stowed the pad and pen in her pocket. She then folded the paper closed, scribbled Oliver's address on the back, and then went to take a quick bath. Once finished and changed into a new dress, she ran out of the inn and down the street. She ran into a post-boy, who was, at that moment, engaged in leaning against a post-box.

"Excuse me," Leanne looked at the boy, "Do you have any stamps?"

"Oh yeah," he grinned and fished in a huge bag that was slung over his shoulder. "That will be a half-penny."

"I haven't got a half-penny."

"Well," he grinned wider, "Do a summer-salt and I'll let you have it."

Leanne frowned, "Alright." She stepped back a few paces and reached her arms up into the air. She then flung herself forward, touched both of her hands to the cobblestones, and landed back on her feet.

The post-boy was laughing, "Nice stockings!"

"Probably not as nice as your briefs!" she said in a quick manner and stuffed the letter into the post-box. The boy was extremely annoyed at this personal insult and he called back something quite unlovely as Leanne ran back toward the inn.

Bill returned several minutes later. His mood had changed drastically, "Le'nne, there's a boat that goes from London to Edinburgh. It passes thro' here on the way. It takes pass'ngers an' it will be here tomorrow at one in the afternoon. We can get tickets for about seven and a half pounds. Best get some dinner and go straight ta bed." And with that, he grabbed the sack of dried fish and they had a nice dinner together.

**That was (I think) the longest chapter I have written. Lots of stuff to say! Please leave a review. You probably know where this story is going now! - Elaine Dawkins**


	14. Loneliness

**Loneliness**

_Fagin arrives at Bet's flat and surprises the Dodger with the news that they must get out of the country as soon as possible. Also, Bet finds what a terrible thing it is to be an unmarried woman._

Dodge yawned and placed two cards on the table, "There you are, two queens. Your turn, again."

Bet bit her lip in thought, "Hmm . . . Let's see . . ." Her brows furrowed and she scrutinized her hand, "I'll take your aces."

"Go pick-pocket!" cried the Dodger. "I want your fives."

"_You_ go pick-pocket!" Bet smiled and leant back in her chair. "Your jacks?" she held out her hand.

"Darn!" the Dodger slammed his three jacks onto her palm. "Why do you always hafta ask for my jacks?"

"Because," Bet grinned, "You always have them, Jack Dawkins!"

They both laughed in a very hearty manner. They were in Bet's small kitchen. The hearth was lit and the floral curtains were drawn tight. Bet had closed all the doors that lead out of the room except for the one that lead down the hallway and to the front door. They both wanted to easily hear the old Jew when he would eventually arrive and knock on the door. They would occasionally pause when they heard a faint sound of some sort. Bet would leap up from her seat and open the door a crack. So far, they had all been false alarms. Dodger wasn't very worried, he figured that Fagin would come up with a good plan of escape and that he would carry it out with all the speed and agility that came from being a top-notch criminal. Bet was the opposite; she was becoming more and more nervous as the clock struck another hour. It was she who had talked the Dodger into playing cards to pass the time, or more truthfully, to avert her attention. She knew more than the boy about the fate of those who were over the age of twelve and who had been in the business of thievery for a longer period. She knew that the Jew would be sentenced to death and that the whole idea of him escaping was insane and unrealistic. It was for this reason, that she was surprised to hear a clear rapping at the door.

Bet looked up at a clock on the wall. "Nine minutes till ten," she mumbled to herself. She placed the cards gently on the table and rose, "I'll be back. You stay here." She placed her hand on the boy's shoulder and then walked out into the hall.

She had left one sconce burning on the wall, as a precaution; just in case Fagin happened to show himself. She grabbed the candle and walked to the door. The rapping was repeated and she opened the door a crack. "Who is calling at this hour?" she asked.

"Fagin, my dear," the old Jew grabbed the outside knob and pulled the door out of Bet's hand. Bet stepped back and the Jew entered without invitation.

"How did you get away?" Bet helped him with his coat and took his hat.

"A kind guard persuaded the magistrates to give me a second hearing. It was decided by the jury that I be sent out of the country."

"To where?"

"Anywhere I wish - I am practically a free man, my dear," Fagin smiled and Bet pulled him aside.

She looked him directly in the eyes and asked, "What about Dodge? Do you want me to . . ."

"No, no, my dear. He can come with me."

"I don't mind him," Bet joined in, "He is quite pleasant and I don't usually have anyone to talk to - I mean, well, since Nance was . . ." She didn't continue, but let her eyes fall to look at the knotty pine flooring.

"My dear," Fagin said in a soothing tone, "We all miss Nancy, but the Dodger is mine and I would like to take him with me. You understand."

Bet nodded, "I can find someone else."

She followed Fagin to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. Once Fagin entered, there was a shout from Dodge and then the boy was hugging the Jew.  
"I knew you'd come! I told Bet you would!"

"Indeed you did and you were right!" Bet walked over with a smile on her face. She did not want the boy to know that she was very saddened by his leaving.

The old Jew flung the boy off him and Dodge fell back into his chair. His hat was knocked off his head and Bet retrieved it for him. She paused to rub the soft, black velvet. She would definitely miss him; his laugh, his dark hair, his cockney accent, the way he could become angry in a pinch, his bright-blue coat, everything.

Dodge looked over at her and saw that she was holding his hat. He swiped it from her grip in playfulness and placed it back on his head at an angled position. He grinned, "You can't have it - not for any money!" He winked at Fagin and then began to laugh.

Bet gave a weak smile and then addressed the old Jew, "Do you want any gin? We have half a bottle left."

"No thank you, my dear. I need my wits tonight. Dodge?"

"Yeah?" the boy leant forward, resting his elbow on the table.

"We need to be leaving. We need to get over to London bridge, pronto. We are going away and must get on board a boat."

"What?" Dodge grinned, "Alright." He got up from his chair, swept off his hat, and gave Bet a slight bow, "Fair-thee-well! It's bon voyage for us!" With that he went out into the hallway.

Fagin lingered to give Bet a quick word, "I'll send a message to you as soon as we get to some destination. Take care of yourself, my dear." He took Bet's hand, gave it a kiss, and then followed the Dodger.

Bet rushed after him and grabbed his black hat and green coat. She held them out, "Here, you wouldn't want to forget these." She helped the old Jew don his coat and then stood back and clasped her hands together, "Be careful. I'll miss both of you." Her eyes began to tear and she swallowed.

"My dear . . ." began Fagin, looking at her with concern.

Bet placed her hand over her mouth and shook her head, "I'll be . . . fine."

Fagin paused in thought, "You wouldn't want to . . ?"

"No . . No. Just get on out of here before you miss your ship," she gave them both a small smile and waved.

Dodge had his hand on the doorknob, but was uninvolved with turning it. He looked up at Fagin, with a frown on his face. Fagin gave a slight tilt of the head and then nudged the boy's back as a signal to leave. Dodge opened the door and held it open so that the Jew could walk ahead. He paused before he too followed and in that very second of doubtfulness, Bet erased the distance between them and gave Dodge a tight squeeze. She bent over and wrapped her arms around his upper back and began to fondle and kiss his hair. After a moment, she pulled back and stroked his cheek with her soft hand, "Now, be a good young man. Listen to Fagin and stay out of trouble. I'll see if I can't visit from time to time. Better run along." She followed him to the door. Dodger gave her one last look before exiting the flat and running off to catch up with Fagin. Bet stood in the doorway and waved until he was out of sight, then she turned around and closed the door behind herself.

Bet stood for several minutes in the hallway. She noted how silent the flat was; more than usual, or so it seemed. She took up the candle snuffed it out and replaced it back in the sconce. She stared at it for a bit before moving back into the kitchen.

She sat down at the table and poured herself another glass of gin. The cards were still strewn about, Dodger's glass was still half-full, and his chair was in the same position as when he had gotten out of it. Bet thought for an instant about clearing the table, pouring out the undrunk gin, and pushing in the chair, when she discarded the idea. Depressing as the scene was, she knew that if she cleaned up, it would look like no one else was there; she preferred to leave everything as it was and to pretend that Dodge was still there.

After finishing the gin, Bet got up and walked about the room. She did not know why she did this other than the fact that she felt restless and in no mood to go to bed. She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She went around to all the windows and opened the drapes so as to let in all the light of the lamp-lit streets. Next, she walked about the room, pausing to look at paintings on the wall and to finger the blue, floral couch, the old, rickety rocking-chair, the ornate desk, and the fireplace mantle. After examining everything as though it were all on display at a museum, she went into her bedroom.

She went bout the bedroom in the same manner; looking and touching everything, until she plopped down onto the small bench in front of her vanity. She stared at herself in the mirror and then pulled open one of the small drawers. Taking out an ivory comb, she began to neaten her long locks with slow strokes; starting at the top and working her way to the bottom. After a while, she set down the comb and stared at her reflection. She looked at her hazel eyes, her lightly-colored lips, the shape of her face, and many other areas of interest. Bet sighed and wondered why, when she was a decent looking girl, no one wanted her. She had always been overlooked and now, she was being left behind. Nancy had been her closest friend, but now she was gone, Fagin had seemed to like her, but now he was leaving - no, he had asked her to come with them, or rather he had tried to ask her if she wanted to join them. Why had she not said 'yes?'

_I didn't want to be a bother_, she reminded herself. A bother. That was why she felt so sorry for herself. _You think everyone thinks you're a bother and so you act like one and no one wants someone who thinks and acts like that. _A tear fell down from one of her eyes and she wiped it away. _How do I change?_ Bet bit her lip and thought. _I have no one around now and that is the best time to make a fresh start,_ she told herself, _You just need to get out more, meet new people, get a decent and serious beau!_ She laughed at that. _Getting a bit ahead of yourself aren't you?_

Well, maybe so, but she felt much better. She poured herself some warm water and washed her face. Then, she changed into her nightgown and got into bed. She nestled underneath the comforter and began to imagine that possibly, some day, she would have a kind, loving husband who she could share her gin, her card deck, and her cozy bed with.

**That was a bit depressing, but I know that that is how many people feel. Lonely. No one should be in that situation. I hope none of you readers feel that way. Please leave a review. - Elaine Dawkins**


	15. Waves and Sea Shells

**Waves and Sea Shells**

_Leanne meets an individual with whom she finds some striking differences. She meets his grandfather and finds that her dad is even more of a celebrity than she originally thought._

Bill awoke at six, when the sun was already high enough to peer through the curtains and blind his drowsy eyes. He opened one eye, saw the bright, golden light, and closed it again. He rubbed it to stop it from smarting and then crawled out from under the covers. Crawling on all fours over to the window, he tried to pull the curtains even tighter together to block the blinding rays. Unfortunately, the curtains had a preferred way of hanging and try as he may, Bill could not close the little chinks between the different panels. He tugged on the heavy taffeta, but gave up.

He decided that sleep was an impossible expectation by then and instead went over to the next bed to wake Leanne. Bill crept over to the side of the bed and rubbed his hand over her shoulder. She pulled her head up off the pillow and looked at him.

"Time ter get up," he straightened and walked over to the dresser to grab his coat and hat.

Leanne yawned and got off the bed. "What time is it?" she asked and yawned again.

Bill pulled out his pocket watch and answered, "Seven after six."

The girl fell onto the bed and said, "I want to go back to sleep!"

"Oh no yer don't!" Bill gave her a stern look. "Come on. Up and at 'em! Best get yerself dresses and ready or I'll just maybe hafta leave without yer."

"Oh, please don't! I'll get dressed!" she jumped off the bed and ran over to the dresser. She pulled out all her clothing and began to lay it out on the floor. After deciding on what to wear, she began to put on her stockings. She rolled up one of the legs in her hands and then stuck her foot through. Next she tried to pull them up and managed to fall over on her back.

Bill, who had been watching, gave her a wicked grin, "Glad I'm a man and don't hafta fuss with that nonsense!" He turned away and began to wash his face.

Leanne got up and decided to do the rest of the pulling while on the floor. She hated stockings with a vengeance! They were tight and, more importantly, they were itchy! Leanne always found herself spending several minutes scratching after putting them on every morning. She looked over at Bill, who was, at that moment, shaving himself using a blade, and said, "Someday, girls will wear pants too and I hope I live to see the day!"

Bill yelled a curse word and then turned around to see if Leanne had noticed. She was bent over, mid-scratch, and her eyes were wide with horror. "I didn't mean to say that!" she apologized, "Of course girls will never wear pants - it's unlawful!"

Bill gave her a funny look, "I said that 'cause I nicked myself. Not 'cause you said anythin' unpleasant!" He grabbed a towel and held it to his face to clot the cut.

Leanne smiled, but avoided laughter because she didn't want to appear as though it was funny that her father had cut himself. She busied herself some more with her itching legs and then went on to the rest of her dressing.

By seven, they had finished getting dressed and, grabbing all their belongings, went down to partake of their complementary, continental breakfast.

"What are we going to do with the carriage?" Leanne inquired. "Can you pass the syrup?"

Bill finished chewing and then said, "I only pass the syrup if yer say the magic word an' I don't rightly know."

"Please," said Leanne. "Their kind of bland without it - waffles are."

Bill handed her the small creamer that was used to house the syrup and replied, "Probl'y just sell it. We can use the money."

"Can you _please_ pass the butter?" Leanne reached out her arm.

Bill shook his head, "Here. Why don't I just hand yer the coffee pot before you ask for it - wait a minute! Yer don't drink coffee." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he said this and Leanne decided to forgo asking for the bowl of sliced strawberries for fear of getting whacked.

An hour later, they had checked out of the inn and were back in the carriage. Bill had it in mind to go down to the docks early to buy their tickets and to see if anyone was interested in the beautiful, black vehicle with the two elegant, graceful horses. As they rode along, their noses met with the salty, sour smell of ocean water. Seagulls flew across the sunny sky, small fish caught in their beaks. They called out and soared in circles, like vultures coming down to eat a dead carcass. Ships came into view. Most carried cargo and traded goods while others were privately owned by the inhabitants and used for fishing and pleasant sailing. It seemed like there were at least a hundred boats; some moored on the shore, some leaving, some coming into harbor.

There were lots of men about. They were cleaning their ships, loading cargo, preparing the sails, or just lounging about on the shore and boardwalk, smoking and talking with friends. Most of the talk consisted of the weather, the choppiness of the waves, how the fishing season was going, or how they missed their families who lived in another part of the country.

Leanne jumped down from the carriage. She looked over toward the left. Farther off, away from the clamor, there was a lovely stretch of unoccupied beach.

"Dad? Can I go over there and explore for a while?" she pointed and Bill looked at the beach.

"Just stay out and away from the water," he warned. "I'm gonna get our tickets an' see what I can do abou' the carriage. Don't go too far!" he added as she ran off.

The beach was beautiful, but quite lonely. It had gray sand with, here and there, long green grasses. The wind picked up and forced the bonnet off her head. It would have been lost for good had she not tied it under her chin. She did not bother to put it back on, but let her hair blow in the breeze. The gray-green waves pounded the shore and left traces of white foam along with bits of seaweed, shells, and driftwood. Leanne picked up a shell and looked at it. It was broken, but had a pearly shimmer inside. She pocketed it and grabbed more.

After a while, she looked back to make sure she could still see the dock. She spotted a boy in the distance. He was walking in her direction and she stopped to watch him. As he came closer, she could see that he was barefoot, his shoes in one of his hands, and that he kicked at the sand as though it were an old can in the street. He was holding onto a black, velvet top-hat with the other hand and wore a bright, blue jacket. He walked right up to Leanne and stopped.

"What you got there?" he asked.

"Sea shells. Their really pretty. I've never seen them before," she held out her hand to show him her glimmering items.

"Not from here? Me neither. I'm from London," he grinned and paid no attention to the shells. "Where are you from?"

"Fernbury," she answered and brushed the hair out of her eyes as another gale passed.

"Never herd of that . . .You vacationing here?" he placed his boots on the ground and pulled his hat further down on his head.

"Not really, we're getting on a boat in a while and heading for Edinburg."

"Not for a while," he commented, "That's the one we're on and they aren't heading on for about four and half an hour. Can you believe that it takes them that long to unload, load, and get everything "ship-shape," as they state it?"

"I know. Who are you traveling with? Family?"

The boy paused and thought for a minute, "Well, my grandfather - if you must know." The Dodger had been warned by the old Jew to act as though he wore his grandson so as to avoid awkward questions and inquiries by either private persons or the police.

"That must be fun!" Leanne smiled. "Do you like the beach?" she inquired.

"Like it!" Dodger gave a laugh and almost lost his hat. "I like the beach as much as I like being prodded by a doctor! No way! It smells funny, it gets in your shoes, and you might as well take off your clothes!"

"What?!" Leanne was fascinated by that statement.

"I mean," Dodge grinned. "They won't stay on for long in this wind!"

"Oh!" she giggled and said, "What's your name?"

"Jack Dawkins, but you might as well call me by my nickname, Dodger. Or better yet - you can call me The Artful," he put his nose up in the air, giving the impression that all things on earth were below him. He looked back down to see how Leanne had taken this action and found that she was laughing again.

"You're like Charley. What's your name?"

"Leanne Sikes," she sat down on the sand and began to spread her gathered seashells on the ground.

"Spell it!"

"S-I-K-E-S - I think."

Just then a voice came from behind, "Dodger, my dear?"

Dodge turned around and Leanne looked up to see who had spoken.

There stood a thin man of about sixty. He had red hair and wore a black hat and a green coat - which he had wrapped himself up in to keep out the cold.

"Fagin," Dodger said, over the sound of the wind, "This is Leanne."

"What a pleasure to meet you, my dear," he held out his hand and the girl stared at him in confusion.

"My dear!" Fagin said a bit louder.

"Yes," Leanne answered.

"Are you quite alright?"

"He means," Dodge cut in, "Are you gonna take his hand or not?"

Leanne nodded, stood up, and shook the Jew's hand.

He looked a bit surprised and remarked, "I didn't expect you to do that, my dear. I was merely going to help you up."

Leanne felt herself turn scarlet and she noted that men from London did not expect proper ladies to shake their hands. He was probably going to simply hold her hand and give it a slight kiss; what a dolt she was!

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just am not used to that sort of thing. My dad doesn't do that."

"What was that you were spelling, my dear?" Fagin changed the subject out of curiosity.

"My last name."

"What is it, my dear?" he grinned at her.

"Sikes. S-I-K-E-S - I think that's how it is spelt. Maybe it's S-Y-K-E-S. I don't know. I've only known him for a bit."

Fagin shook his head and looked pityingly down at her.

"What?" she was tired of being confused. It was no fun at all being embarrassed in front of total strangers.

"Is his name 'Bill,' my dear?" the old Jew's hat flew off his head and Dodger ran off to retrieve it for him.

"Yes. Everyone seems to know him. I guess he's famous!" she giggled.

"Who else knows him?" Fagin found himself thoroughly intrigued.

"Just someone else. Did you know that we're getting on your boat?"

"That's just lovely, my dear. Dodger!" he called. The boy came back over and gave the Jew back his hat. "Let's get out of this terrible wind. Would you like to join us?" he addressed Leanne and smiled.

"Where to?"

"Just back over towards the dock. We can find some shelter and talk a bit longer."

"Alright."

They made their way back toward the ships and went walking by the carriage.

"Someone's got a bit too much money," Fagin announced after taking the time to examine the velvet seats.

"That's ours," Leanne looked down at her feet in shame. It was terrible of her to have an expensive carriage when they looked poor in their tattered and worn garments.

"Yours!" Fagin's mouth dropped a bit and then he changed it into an unexpected grin. "Bill was always good at finding the best things."

"To steal," whispered the Dodger so that only the Jew could hear.

Fagin nodded and they proceeded to enter a small cafe. There they stayed, drinking tea and talking, for a good hour.

**That was a very fun chapter to write! Much better than the last one. Please Review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	16. Dispute

**Dispute**

_The story reverts to Fagin and Bill. They have a very important debate that terminates in a compromise. _

After Leanne left the cafe, Fagin and Dodge went aboard the boat and stayed, covertly, in solitude together for a short time. This action was due to the fact that Bill was unaware of their presence and the Jew did not want any trouble. Earlier, he had asked Leanne to not mention the Dodger or himself to Bill, no matter what the situation. The girl had asked why and all that the old Jew could say was that Bill and he had had an argument and that it needed to be dealt with in a careful manner. The girl had understood the gravity of the matter and had promised to not say a word. For this reason, she told Bill little about what had passed and Bill, being uninterested anyway, asked little.

Leanne spent most of the remaining day outside, looking at the steel-blue waves as they glimmered in the bright sunlight and pressed against the side of the boat. After a time of watching the water, Leanne decided to spend the time writing another letter to Oliver so that she could have one ready to send the minute they came to the next port. She pulled the small pad of paper and the ink pen from her dress pocket. Sitting cross-legged on the deck, she listened to the seagulls and wrote.

_Dear Mark,_

_The last letter was written yesterday and this one is written today. I cannot write every day so don't expect it, but I will try to write as often as I can. _

_We were able to get a boat. It stops in a few towns, but we should get to Edinburgh (I think) in approx. five days. It's slow going and they spend hours loading and unloading cargo and people. They have lots of barrels of apples and other foodstuffs so I think that is what they ship. There are some other people on board, but no other children my age. They're all older than me by a few years and do not care to play with me - at least, that is what this one girl told me! (I hope she gets sea-sick!) Anyway, the boat is very nice. It is made of cedar and other stuff like iron. It has huge, white sails that billow in the breeze (which never stops blowing for a minute!) and on the top of each mast, there is a small national flag. Our cabin is tiny, but we will only be sleeping in it. Bill is there now, sleeping; we woke up really early this morning. By the way, Bill sold the carriage before we left. A well-off elderly couple paid him a hundred pounds for it and Bill said that it can go towards a house when we get settled. Which brings me to my next point. We're settling? That is not what I thought we were doing. I thought we were vacationing - I must have not understood him . . . Well, maybe I can convince him to come back to the village with me. Anyway, I wanted to mention that I am sure you read my last letter because God answered my prayer!! I met a boy who is a year younger than me. His name is Jack and he is traveling with his grandfather. He is a bit negative about the whole experience, but I think he has reason to be that way; He and his grandfather are a bit poor and that is sad. His is nice though and his grandfather is EXTREMELY nice. He bought me some tea earlier this afternoon and we sat and talked for an hour! We are all on the same boat, but I haven't seen either of them. I think they feel a bit embarrassed around these well-off vacationers. It's a shame and I know you feel the same way about it that I do. You're so nice! I wish that you were here; even with Jack it is still rather lonely. I hope that you can come and visit some time. Or maybe, I can visit you at some point? I would also like to see Mr. Losborne again! He seemed very kind and funny. _

_The weather is warm and sunny without ceasing! The wind is a bit chilly, but if you stand in an area where it is blocked, the sun is actually quite hot. It is really pretty as it glimmers on the water. I asked one of the crew members if the water was warm and he said that it was freezing. He laughed at me and asked if I had ever seen the ocean and I said that I hadn't (which is all true!). We talked for a few minutes and he told me that the water is only warm an inch deep. The fish are probably freezing their fins off! _

_There is a lunch room on board that serves food, not only at lunch time, but at every hour of the day. They have meat and cheese along with canned stuff. It is all paid for with your ticket and you can eat as much as you want. The lunch room is small and has only about seven small tables, but it is cosy and comfortable. The whole room is lined with paintings of boats and beaches. A couple of the paintings have storm scenes - which scare me at the prospect of such a thing befalling us! - and I avoid looking at these. _

_Our next stop is Yarmouth, a town that is further north. I found it on a map that was hanging in our cabin. Please pray for us not to have a choppy sea or to end up on a desert island in the middle of nowhere. I'll keep praying for you. May God continue to smile upon you where ever you go._

_Your Best Friend,_

_Who misses you greatly,_

_Leanne Doris (Oops! I mean Sikes.)_

Leanne folded the four pieces of paper, that she had used to write this message, and placed them in her pocket along with the pad and pen. She got up off the deck, took a breath of salty air, and continued to look at the seascape and daydream about Oliver.

Fagin and Dodger had come aboard long before they were ready to set sail. They both hastened as quickly as possible to their cabin. Fagin looked about before commencing to unlock the door. He opened it and they both went inside. It was a cramped room with only one queen-sized bed, a small writing desk, and a thin armoire for hanging clothing items. There were two round, porthole windows that sat high up on the opposite wall from the door. There was a terrible irony about the cabin situation; it was smaller than the cell that they had occupied in the jail back in London. There, they had had room to pace and to move about with much liberty, but now they would run into the furniture if they moved more than two feet at best. Fagin had almost run right onto the bed as he stepped inside. He caught himself, just before he was flung forward, by reaching out both hands and steadying himself using them for leverage. He straightened himself and made his way to the desk. He pulled out the spindly chair as far as he could, which was only a rough estimate of eight inches, and slid and twisted his body into it. After much exertion, Fagin looked over at Dodge, "Cozy isn't it, my dear?"

Dodge began to laugh and flopped onto the bed. "You look like you're stuck there!" he pointed at the Jew and grinned, "No different than the last boat that we were on."

"So it is," Fagin looked down at the desk and then began to open the miniscule drawers that flanked him on both sides. He took out a pad of paper, some ink, and a quill. "While I'm here, I might as well get some work done; don't you think, my dear?" he grinned at the boy and Dodge responded with some more laughter.

Fagin dipped the quill into the ink and poised it over the page in thought. His eyes glazed over for a few minutes as he pondered something that had taken his attention. Coming back to the present, the old Jew found that several drops of ink had fallen onto the paper. He frowned at it and then placed the quill back into the ink. He spoke to the Dodger, "The fact remains, my dear, that Bill is on this boat. We will be traveling together, so it seems, for quite a while yet." Dodge nodded in apprehension and Fagin continued, "We have not spoken to Bill since he murdered Nancy - I never agreed with him about the necessity of that mode of action - he should know that even though I have never had the chance of spelling it out for him. Because of this, it is my thought that we should have a discussion. After I am finished with this letter to Bet, I will go out to find him and, my dear, when I do, there's no telling what will happen." He eyed Dodger and then returned to the ink and paper.

Dodge waited, until the old Jew had written a few lines, to speak, "I'm no use here now, am I? I mean, can I go see to Miss Leanne for a bit?" He winked at Fagin after saying this to give the impression that what he meant to do had applications and was not meant just as pleasure.

Fagin looked up and grinned, "You see to her, my dear. You are right. Keep her out of ear and eyeshot for the time being."

Dodge grinned at Fagin and then, taking up his hat, left the room. The old Jew wrung his hands in pleasure at the boy's intelligence in such matters. After reflecting on all the wonders of the Dodger's skill and cunning, he returned to the task at hand and ended up writing quite a lengthy letter to that most respectable lady who had been left alone in London on the previous day. He folded the letter and placed it in his coat pocket, planning to mail it as soon as they reached their next destination.

Dodge eyed a group of wooden barrels that were set on a shady part of the deck. He took the top off of one of them and found a glorious array of apples. He picked through them until he found a big, golden red one. He rubbed it against his coat and then began to gnaw at it. Thinking for a moment, he decided that it would be gentlemanly of him to bring Leanne an apple too. He searched around and, finding another beautiful one, grabbed it and went on to find the girl.

She was leaning against the side of the boat with her head facing downward towards the water. She looked up as he approached.

"Here," Dodge handed her the unbitten apple. He took another bit of his own and then remarked, with his mouth full, that they were delicious even though the season was early.

Leanne giggled, "Thanks."

"What are you looking at?" Dodge took another bite and came up next to her.

"Just the waves. I think they are just so pretty!"

"That will get boring right quick, you know? We got on this boat last night and I'm already tired of all the water, the smelly air, and the seagull droppings."

Leanne fell down to her knees and hugged her middle, in laughter.

Dodge rolled his eyes and turned to face the other way, "You're a lot like Charley," he mumbled.

An hour after the Dodger left, Fagin was ready to emerge from the cabin. He scrambled out of his chair and left the room, locking the door behind himself. He crept up the stairs and reached the sun-dowsed deck. He squinted in the brightness and looked about. There was no sign of Bill anywhere. He walked cautiously around and found Dodge and Leanne. They were looking down at the passing waves and Leanne was commenting on their brilliance of color and on the way they pounded the side of the boat with a surprising amount of force. Fagin tip-toed past and turned a corner, fearing the worst. To his relief and disappointment, Bill was still nowhere to be seen. Some of the sailors were there, though, along with some of the other passengers. They were conversing and laughing. Fagin turned around and went back the way he had come. Taking a chance, he walked over and joined Dodge and Leanne. "What a view! Isn't it refreshing, my dears?" he took a good whiff of air.

"Oh yes," answered Leanne. She looked up a Fagin and smiled, "Are you going to join us?"

"Sorry, but no, my dear. I must ask you a question. You remember when I remarked earlier that you were not to tell Bill that we were here? And that I said that I needed to speak to him in private?"

Leanne nodded and continued to stare at him.

"Well," Fagin continued, "Where is he, my dear?"

"He was in our cabin, but I saw him go into the lunch room a couple of minutes ago."

"Well I should have guessed that," the Jew mused aloud. "Thank you, my dear. You are a very polite and well-mannered girl," he patted her hand and then left.

As it turned out, Leanne was correct; Bill had gone to the lunch room. He was sitting at one of the small tables and was sipping at a mug full of amber-colored ale. There were quite a few people doing the same thing and the old Jew was glad of this fact. It was easy for him to slip in the door and walk about the place without fear of notice. In fact, Bill did not notice his presence until Fagin was standing right in front of him.

Bill looked up. His eyes opened wide and he made a terrible oath. Fagin sat down opposite him and grinned.

"What the blazes are yer doin' here?!" Bill was shocked and annoyed. "Where did yer come from? Hell itself I'd reckon!"

"Bill, my dear, no use in getting worked up about it. The fact is that my sentence was changed and I am forced to leave the country. I am traveling to Edinburgh and you cannot do a thing about it - except that is, to make it as easy and comfortable a trip as anything," Fagin leant back in his chair and looked about the room. He then lowered his voice and continued, "I have some things that need addressing, my dear, and I think you will agree that they are most important. Please do not interrupt me. Now then, I have the Dodger with me, my dear, and we have both met Leanne. I don't know anything much about that and you need not bother explaining yourself. She is pleasant and I like her - wonderful girl."

"Course she is," Bill muttered and took a long swig of his beer. He eyed Fagin with a very steady gaze that showed no real emotion.

"My dear," Fagin leant forward, closing the space between themselves, "We must be civilized about this. Now about Nancy . . ."

"Yer can just forget that one!" Bill thundered. Every individual within the room quit conversing and stared at the two men. Bill took another sip and ignored the attention. Fagin could not help but be bothered by it. He stood up and beckoned Bill to follow him outside. Bill drained his glass, wiped his mouth, and joined the Jew.

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky. The air was cooler and everything reflected the sun's rays in oranges, pinks, and other sunset colors. The water had calmed a bit and had turned from steel-blue to a greenish-brown. Most of the passengers had moved to their cabins or had gone to eat dinner. The world was peaceful as it often became as the day ended.

Fagin walked a few paces and leant against a mast. He stayed silent for a moment before carefully speaking, "I was always against that." The Jew knew that Bill could understand what he was talking about so he decided that he need not be too thorough about it. "My dear, that is a very important point. It is quite uncomfortable for myself and I do believe that it is the same for you." He stopped to look at the sky.

Bill began to finger one of his coat buttons and sighed, "I regret it. I've changed and yer just gonna get me in more trouble. I want outta it. That's all!"

Fagin looked taken aback, "Your, your sorry, my dear?"

Bill did not answer.

"Well, that is news to me," the Jew lowered his gaze. "You know that I could p . . ."

Bill grabbed Fagin by the coat collar and shook him vigorously, "Yer do that an' yer goin' overboard!" He gritted his teeth and leered as he said this.

Fagin nodded and Bill relaxed his grip.

"I was not going to, my dear," he rubbed his head and neck with both hands.

"Yer threatened to! Now, listen to me, yer old devil! I don't want yer business anymore, I don't want ter see yer crafty face again, an' I don't want yer near my daughter, yer understand?! She's pure and gentle and can stay that way." Bill turned to walk away.

"Bill," Fagin cried and went after him. He gripped Bill's coat and replied, "I'm not in that business, my dear. I don't want to do it either; I just want peace and quiet - and friends." He gulped and turned to look away, "Dodge likes Leanne, my dear, and I feel that that liking is mutual. It would be wrong to take that away from them."

Bill grunted in disgust, "Fine. They can be friends, but I don't want ter have too much to do with yer. Agreed?"

"Agreed, my dear. You can go back to your beer."

"Hang on! Where's Leanne anyways?"

"With Dodger, my dear. They are here somewhere."

"She needs ter have her dinner. Say, Fagin?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"What did yer tell her?"

"What do you mean, my dear? I simply told her that I was Dodge's grandfather and that we had worked together and that we had ended our partnership in dispute. I did not say what the business was or anything criminal. I suppose that is what you were fishing for?"

"Yeah, that was it," He strode away from the old Jew with quickened speed and was pleased to find that Fagin had nothing more to say.

**That was a long chapter! It seems like I am stuck talking about the sea all the time. Strange . . . I don't really care much for the beach or the sea. Hopefully, Fagin and Bill will get on better terms with each other! Anyway, Please Review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	17. Edinburgh

**Edinburgh **

_The boat moors at a mid-sized city. Dodger and Leanne continue to further their friendship. _

Five days came and went without much to tell. Leanne continued to spent her time writing to Oliver. She would write several letters throughout her day about her thoughts, aspirations, and about the things that happened while they traveled, which became quite limited within a short period of time. She also spent time talking with her father. Bill mostly stayed within the confines of their little room, but he would venture to the lunch room, at odd times of the day, in order to snag a bite and sup. Fagin and Dodge stayed mostly out of sight, which caused some concern on the part of the girl; she figured that the Jew's meeting with Bill had gone terribly wrong and that caused her even more grief and worry. She wondered if they were prohibited from seeing her and whether it was safe for her to seek their company herself. Feeling that such action would wreck havoc on her relationship with her dad, she decided to ignore these negative emotions. It was against Leanne's better, or maybe bitter, judgement to do so now that Bill seemed interested in her once more. Luckily, she was kept busy and the days went by fairly quickly.

The last day of the journey dawned. The bright sun rose over the horizon and spread its shiny rays to dispel the night's shadows. The dark receded in fear of the light and all the air was a fire of oranges, pinks, and pale blues. The wind had died out and the ship's sales ceased to billow. That did not matter though, because they had reached the bay of Edinburgh. Men came up from the docks to come aboard and help remove the cargo, pull down the great sails, and replenish the boat's food and other supplies. Leanne had noted that as they increased their distance northward, dialects and accents changed dramatically. In one city, the inhabitants spoke with gruff Irish and in the next, the tone changed to a soft old English. Now, at this port, the men spoke with a strong, scottish tongue. They yelled to each other, as they worked, with such words as, 'Get that there, laddie!' and 'What would the English do without us?!' Most of the phrases were about this latter point. A young sailor, while rolling a barrel off the boat, yelled to a fellow laborer, "I say, 'God save the Queen' and that England is lovely, but that is only as long as we're here!" "Aye! England is only as good as the Scottish make it!" the other man said, to a bustle of laughter, cheers, and cries of 'Hail the Scots!" One elderly man, sitting on the edge of the dock began to sing the national anthem and many of the bystanders joined in.

Leanne hummed along with the singers as she leant over the side of the boat. Bill came up behind her and she stopped humming. She turned to look up at him, a smile creasing her face.

"Yer not Scottish," he poked her in the ribs and she began to giggle, knowing all too well that he was teasing her.

"I just like to sing," she shrugged her shoulders and then turned back to watch the commotion. "Besides," she continued in a low tone, "we'll be Scots in just a short time."

Bill said nothing to this so Leanne elaborated, "You said that we were going to settle here. I thought we were just traveling; I thought we would go back to my village and that you and Mom would get back together."

"Yer want ter go back, don't yer?" Bill sighed deeply and then fell silent.

"I just wish that Mom was here."

Bill stared ahead and continued to grope for something encouraging to say, something to make her forget her mother. A small part of his inner self knew and understood how she felt, but his mind told him that she was his daughter and that he had a right to take her with him. In the end, he decided to forget the whole thing and concentrate on the present situation.

"I got yer stuff together," Bill replied, "Best that we get off this confounded ship!" He handed Leanne her clothing.

She paused for a moment, in thought, and then decided to go ahead and reveal her worst fears, "Am I not allowed to see Dodge or Fagin at all?"

Bill shifted a bit and gave her a steady look, "Yer can spend time with Dodge, but I don't think yer need to spend much time with his grandfather." He touched the girl on the shoulder and then walked over to the plank that lead from the ship to the dock. Leanne followed, feeling a bit annoyed about the fact that she could not have fun with anyone unless they were on good terms with her father. It was unfair and she could do nothing about it.

As she was walking and pondering many different things, she heard someone call her by name. She turned at the sound of the cockney accent and came face to face with Dodge. Leanne smiled and the boy tipped his hat. He then looked around and asked, "You wanna walk around for a bit?"

Leanne looked over at Bill, who had stopped and now stood, waiting for her, at the head of the main road into the town. She called out, "Can I stay with Dodge for a while? Please, Dad?"

Bill nodded and then said, "I'll meet you back at this spot in an hour!" He then turned and walked on.

"Only an hour?!" Dodge looked a little perturbed. He shook his head and frowned, "That's not fair. I'm allowed out as long as I like."

"You are, are you, my dear?"

Dodge turned around and grinned, sheepishly, at Fagin. The old Jew was placing some papers in his pocket and seemed not to notice the boy's look.

Leanne spoke up, "Mr. Fagin?"

"Yes, my dear. Oh, and Dodge is right; I do let him go out as long as he wants, but he has the knowledge and the skill to avoid trouble. I trust him, my dear."

"Oh, well . . . Um, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but my dad said that he would prefer that I not spend time with you," she looked down at the ground and tried to smear a bit of sand that was lying there.

Fagin sighed yet, visibly only to the Dodger, he grinned and his eyes flashed with a gleam of light. He changed his expression to one of pity and, placing his hand under the girl's chin, raised her face up to look at his, "You know, my dear . . . I would never do anything to harm you. Bill is just being stubborn. It was a small quibble, my dear, . . just a small quibble." He lowered his voice as he said this, giving the effect that he was letting her on to a small secret - something that they could share.

Leanne felt ashamed, "I'm sorry . . . I don't know what to do . . . I'm supposed to listen to my parents and Bill is my father so . . ."

"My dear," the Jew mollified, "Bill won't worry about it for long. He gets fits, my dear. Yes, fits - that is, anger fits. He will cool off in time. Just let him. Now, I will let you two go off on your own. I must find a post box and get some of these papers off to London, straight away!" With that, he pulled his coat tight around his thin form and strode off at a fast gait.

Dodge waited until Fagin had disappeared to speak, "What he says is true. I've known Bill for years, you can trust me on that!" After making this statement, he cocked his hat at an angle upon his head and then, eyeing Leanne, bade her follow his lead.

The city was much like London in a lot of ways. The buildings were plentiful and of decent size. There were people everywhere. Carriages went by, pulled by horses, men and women were selling all sorts of products, and farmers went by, followed by small herds of sheep and cattle, headed for the butchers.

Dodge stopped at a street corner, looked about, and then made a face. Leanne gave him a questioning look. Dodge explained, "Some of the men are wearing short skirts!"

"Those are kilts. They're the traditional dress," Leanne giggled.

"Yup, that sure is what they are; traditional _dress_. I hope I don't end up wearing anything like that! And I do believe I'd die if Fagin ever started running around in the like!" Dodge crinkled his nose as he said this and then changed the subject, "You're staying here right?"

"I believe so." they walked down an adjacent street and came to a poor man who was playing bagpipes for small bits of change. Leanne found herself humming once again.

"What is that?" Dodge looked at her incredulously.

"I'm just enjoying the music. I like to sing."

"You sing?"

"Yes."

"In the bath?" Dodge smirked.

"No, in church. In the choir," she blushed with embarrassment. She figured that the boy would laugh at her.

Dodge did not live up to here expectations, but simply asked, "Can you sing something?"

"I guess so. Not here. Lets find somewhere away from these people," she tugged on his sleeve.

They went down a few streets and came to a deserted one. Leanne looked about nervously and shook a bit at the prospect of singing at a boy.

"Go on!" Dodge was getting impatient.

Leanne fingered in her pocket and looked up at the sky,

"_From Greenland's icy mountains, _

_From India's coral strand, _

_Where Afric's sunny fountains _

_Roll down their golden sand; _

_From many and ancient river, _

_From many a palm-y plain, _

_They call us to deliver _

Their land from error's chain." 

Leann stopped and dropped her gaze to look at Dodge. He was staring at her with his head cocked to one side like a swallow.

"Well, that's only one verse of it," she tried to smile, but found it too difficult to attempt so she decided to examine her shoes.

"You've got a decent pitch," Dodge's face broke into a grin. "What was that?" he asked.

"It's a song from choir. I sing it in church sometimes," she shifted around as she said this, wondering how the boy would take this news.

Dodge leant against the side of a building and fingered in his pocket, "So you sing in church . . . What are you?"

"Other than a human being?" Leanne smiled and Dodge began to laugh.

"That's not what I meant," he replied.

"Well then, . . . I'm Protestant."

"Protestant!" Dodge whistled and then remarked, "Most people are Catholic or Anglican! You're a rare species!"

"I'm not, really; there are lots of us about."

"Oh well," he sighed, "I guess you and Fagin can fight about the whole thing." Leanne gave him a clueless expression and so he continued to explain, "He's Jewish. You know? They don't believe in Jesus. According to their lot, you haven't a chance in Heaven."

Leanne felt a bit affronted by this statement, but tried to keep herself from getting annoyed. She turned away from the boy and spoke in a small voice, "I don't know why they think that."

"Just don't say anything," Dodge began to walk off and Leanne followed.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Me? Well, anybody can think what they want. I think there is God, but he don't care much about me personally. Otherwise," he winked at Leanne, "I would be rich and famous. When that happens, I will know that he cares about me."

"He does care!" she grabbed the boy's arm and turned him to face her. "He cares more than you know! He loves you deeply; just look at yourself. You have a grandfather that loves you, decent clothing, food, money. What more could you want? Actually, I will tell you what else you need and He desires for you to have it! Eternal life! His word tells us, "For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son; that whoever believes in Him, will have eternal life." He'll give that to you too; you just need to ask for it." Leanne found herself gasping for breath after giving this testimony.

Dodge stared at her in amazement. Her eyes seemed to spark and fire as she spoke and her speech had become urgent and confident. Within the short pause, he decided to speak, "I don't know . . . someday, maybe."

Leanne let go and felt a pang of failure. She had been as convincing as she could and yet, her efforts were for nothing. She thought and then a voice seemed to come to her, _Dodge heard you, give him time, My child. I will work this out for you. Do not feel discouraged. Remember, I do not will that anyone should parish._

Leanne answered the voice with a silent prayer, _Thank you God for Dodge. Please help him to know You and Your love._

They walked on in silence. Passing by a square with a stone fountain, they stopped. The fountain was a good size. It was round and full of cool, gray water which sparkled in the sunlight. A statue of a man and woman stood in the middle of the water. The man held a pitchfork and was dressed as a farmer. The woman was stooped over and water flowed out of a basket that she held out. The scene gave the impression that the couple were both hardworking and a part of the lower class. Leanne walked up to the fountain and touched the basket, letting her hand feel the flow of the water that emerged from its depths. Dodge leant over the side and pulled something out of the water.

"They've got a good bit of money in there," he held the coin up in the light and squinted at it.

"That's for good luck."

"I know. Want one?"

"No thanks. I think that would be stealing."

"Doesn't matter. The government probably keeps it for using on dumb stuff like building projects," he pocketed a few of the coins and then looked up at the statues. "Don't know why they're smiling. I wouldn't smile if I had to farm. Farm animals smell."

"Is that all you think about? The sea smells, farms smell . . . what next? Old people smell?" Leanne giggled and then fell silent.

Fagin came walking over and it looked as if he had not missed a bit of the conversation. He stood behind the girl and simpered, "Do we really, my dear?"

Leanne turned and tried to grin at him, "I just meant that such a thing was . . ."

"Stupid. Yes, I know, my dear. Just defending me and all the other old people," he tussled the girl's hair and smiled.

"Got rid of those papers?" Dodge pulled a few more coins from the fountain.

"Yes, yes, my dear. And we need to head back. Bill will be wanting his daughter back. He doesn't care about our views on the subject. He's just not willing to share - no matter how much we adore her company!" he looked about and neatened his green coat. "Come on now, the both of you! Best get moving."

They walked along and Fagin began to give an account of his whereabouts, "I went over to the nearest post office and sent those papers. After that, I went about in search of some place to stay. I was able to locate a house that stands right off the main road. It's owned by an elderly woman named Mrs. McGillian. She says that we can stay as long as we need - bless her! The house is a bit small, but we get meals and everything."

"Is she the doting type?" Dodge seemed skeptical and a bit worried.

"A bit, but you need not stick around all the time, my dear. Also, I do not plan on us staying there till eternity," the old Jew faced toward the dock, that was then coming into view, and missed the face that the boy made. He stuck his tongue out and crinkled his nose in a disgusted manner. Leanne giggled and then covered her mouth.

Bill was waiting for them. Leanne ran over to meet him. He ignored Fagin and Dodge and addressed her, "Come on yer; dinner's waitin'."

Leanne smiled and waved at the boy and the Jew and, putting her small hand within her father's, left.

_(The song above is a hymn by Reginald Heber)_

**That was a long chapter! I am sorry that it took so long to post it. I have been busy with school and that is a real bummer! Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	18. On the Lamb and in the News

**On the lamb and In the News**

_Dodge and Leanne are caught off guard and become the talk of the neighborhood._

Mrs. McGillian turned out to be an extravagantly, doting and gregarious old woman. From the very second that Dodge entered her home, she began to adore him fondly.

"Ooooh!" Mrs. McGillian squealed at the sight of his small personage. "He's just cute as a lamb! And all dressed up like a fine young lad in his coat and hat! Oh! And that adorable face! Oh! Just like an angle, he is!" she bent down and kissed him on the cheek and then wrapped her portly form about him in a tight squeeze. "You need a washing though," she smiled at him and her eyes gleamed through her small spectacles that were propped down upon her round nose. "Come, come, my lad, and I'll show you the lavatory. There, you can wash your face and hands before dinner. I made a lamb-chop that will just melt in your mouth!" And with that, she took the boy by the hand and led him down a hallway. Dodge looked back and gave Fagin a look that plainly said, 'why are you torturing me like this?'

Fagin shrugged his shoulders in an attitude of helplessness and went into the kitchen to see the promised lamb-chop. It was lying in a small pan upon the table. The old Jew grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the sauce that surrounded the meat. He took a small taste and found the flavor to be just glorious! He took another spoonful and savored it in his mouth for several seconds before daring to swallow it. He was just going to get a third taste when Mrs. McGillian appeared on the scene.

"Mr. Fagin! Oh, you're a naughty man! Eating my food before dinner," she wagged her finger at him in a silly manner and then continued. "Why don't you sit down? Here, I'll start to carve it for you and you need not eat only the sauce!" she took up a large carving knife and began to slice the lamb into several helpings.

Dodge walked into the room and sat down next to Fagin. The old lady looked up at him and smiled, "Ah, now we're all clean and ready to eat! Jack, you can go ahead and dish out some of the potatoes and the veggies." The boy did as he was told, taking care not to spoon out too many of the vegetables. He took a good helping of the potatoes and handed them to the Jew.

"Oh, it is soooo nice to have other folk about the house!" Mrs. McGillian mused. "Its been too quiet since my children moved away along with my grandchildren - and since my husband passed away."

"Two guesses why he died and why her children moved away," Dodge whispered to Fagin. The Jew nodded and then returned to his food.

"Oh," the old lady announced with much energy, "We forgot to say 'Grace!' Fagin, will you do the honors?" she clasped her hands together and bowed her head.

Fagin looked at Dodge and then followed suit. He began in a nervous tone, "Dear God, thank you for this delectable meal. Thank you for Mrs. McGillian's kindness. Bless us all with good health and happiness. Amen."

"Amen!" echoed Mrs. McGillian with much zest. "Oh, and by the way," she addressed Fagin, "You can call me Julie. All this Mr. and Mrs. stuff is just too impersonal!" She set down her fork and fixed some of her curly locks that had tried to escape her straw bonnet. She looked over at the Dodger and took off her spectacles, "So many spoonfuls of potatoes, bless him! You're going to become a chubby, little thing if you eat so much! Next time, take more of the other veggies and less of the fatty stuff."

Dodge eyed her and then looked down at his plate, feeling a mixture of hate for Julie and embarrassment for his love of potatoes.

"You don't talk much do you?" she smiled at the boy, "Shy I guess. Well, no matter! I talk enough for the three of us."

Fagin's eyes widened at this little confession and he ventured to speak, "Julie, my dear." He paused. Why did he call her that? The old Jew continued, trying to ignore his mistake, "I believe that after dinner I shall head straight to bed."

"Oh, really? I was figuring that the three of us could sit in the parlor for a while and have some tea and play cards or something," she sighed and looked over at Dodge. "I guess it will just be the two of us."

"No, ma'am," Dodge interjected, "I promised to go visit with a friend after dinner." He tried to look apologetic.

"Oh, well! Maybe tomorrow. I need to do the dishes anyway." she got up off her chair and began to gather the plates and utensils.

"Lovely dinner," commented Fagin.

"Thank you," Julie smiled and then, just as suddenly, began to frown. "Where did I put my spectacles? I can't see a thing farther off than five feet without them."

"I don't know," lied Dodge. He grinned at Fagin and then headed at a brisk pace back toward the front door.

He ran down several streets and then paused to gather his breath. He wondered how long they would be staying and if she would allow them to leave. He began to wander around town in a series of loops, trying to kill time and prolong the time that he could spend away from that annoying lady.

Dodge walked by a public house and was almost ran over by Leanne. She had seen him through the windows and had ran out of the door at break-neck speed. She landed square on Dodge's stomach.

"Ow! Get off me!" She jumped up at his command and then apologized.

"I'm sorry," she said fervently, "I was just worried that I would not be able to find you again and then you go walking by - I had to flag you down."

"I'm not gone forever," Dodge slapped his hands across the seat of his pants, trying to dislodge the dust from the folds of fabric. "We're staying on Elm Way. House number Three-two-eight. But," he pulled Leanne to him and whispered in her ear, "You don't want to go there."

"Why not?" she whispered back.

"Because the woman who lives there is far too amiable. She's like an annoying aunt who just wants to pinch your cheeks and squeeze the living daylights out of you!" he looked around. "Want to walk for a bit?"

"Sure," Leanne smirked and then began to follow him.

They walked for a while in silence. The city quickly went by in a blur. The sun was going lower toward the horizon, but they still had a good two hours of daylight left. The building began to vanish and they found themselves in the countryside. There were a few well-spaced farms, but mostly there were sheep.

The sheep grazed on the lime-green grasses that filled the landscape, safely surrounded by wooden fences and gates. Leanne ran ahead of Dodge and jumped up to sit on one of the crossbars. Dodge ran up to her and found that she was sitting with a tranquil look on her face.

"What's up?" Dodge pinched his nose, "These sheep smell!"

"There you go again!" the girl crossed her arms in aggravation. "It just smells like nature! I love it! We always had sheep around at home. They were everywhere!" She sniffed the air and then jumped down onto the opposite side of the fence.

"Where are you going?" Dodge jumped over after her.

"I'm going to get a closer look at he sheep," she walked ahead. Coming towards a ewe that was resting on the ground, she bent over and touched the top of its head. Dodge ran up behind her and the sheep jumped and trotted off towards the others.

"Well now you've done it!" she furrowed her brows. "You scared it off!"

"Sheep are too stupid and jumpy!" Dodge explained.

"The are not stupid. Come on!" Leanne grabbed the boy's hand and they walked over to the rest of the flock. "Here's a lamb!" she took Dodge's hand and passed it down the lamb's wooly back.

"Isn't it soft? They've been sheered recently and you can sort of feel their skin."

Dodge nodded, but said nothing.

At that moment, they heard a voice, "Hey, children!"

Dodge and Leanne looked up and saw a man coming towards them. He was around the age of twenty and wore a brown suit and hat. He stepped over the fence with his long legs and walked over to them. He had a huge bundle in his arms and he swayed a bit with the weight of it. The man set the bundle down on the ground and began to sort through it. He pulled out several long pieces of metal and wood, a metal box, and several other pieces of strange make. He looked up and smiled, "Do you kids mind if I ask a favor?"

Leanne said that she didn't mind. Dodge looked skeptical.

"All I need you to do is stand very still. Can you do that?"

"Of course!" replied Leanne. Dodge pulled on her skirt and mumbled something about the man wanting her to stand still so that he could shoot her with the device. "Really Dodge!" she whispered, "You're strange!"

"What is that thing?!" Dodge asked.

"It's a photograph machine. New idea, my friends. It takes images of people and things and places it on paper. It's just like having a painting done of yourself, its just faster."

Dodge walked over and looked at the machine as the man set it up. "How does it do that?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of his judgement.

"It sends out a light and well . . . I don't really know. I was just taught how to use it. I'm taking pictures of the landscape for the newspaper. First time." He winked and then continued to stick the different pieces together.

"Does this thing do any damage?" Dodge had tried to rephrase the actual question that was burning in his mind, 'does this thing hurt?'

"Damage? No, I had it done the other day. I didn't feel a thing. Amazing how many people ask that question," he stood up and began to tinker with some knobs and cranks. "Alright," he said after a pause, "Both of you go over there and sit on the grass with the sheep. Now remember, you must stay perfectly still. No movement. Don't blink, don't laugh, don't breathe. . ." he laughed, "Just kidding about that last one." He walked over to where Leanne and Dodge had flopped onto the grass and began to give directions on how they should sit, "Put your legs to the side and cover them with your skirt. Lean on your hand and tilt your head just slightly. Good! Now place your other hand on the back of the sheep. Good! Alright, now you sit cross-legged and put one hand on the sheep and the other in your lap. Good! Now tilt your head towards the young lady. A bit more. Don't be shy with her! The public won't think your sweet on her! They'll just think you have a crick in your neck!" He laughed again and continued, "Now stay still for a couple of minutes. I'll tell you when you can move."

After several minutes of sitting stiff on the grass, the man announced that he was finished. He said thanks, took apart the apparatus, and went on his way.

Dodge looked at Leanne, "I thought for sure that he had shot us when that light flared! My eyes went black and now I'm still seeing spots."

Leanne giggled, "Well, we'll be in the paper. That's what he said."

"Just what I need! Now Mrs. McGillian will have something to poke even more fun at!" he walked away and kicked at the grass as he went.

"Wait up!" Leanne stood, stretched, and went after the boy.

Dodge looked at her and headed on, "I hope Fagin gets a job right quick. I can't stand living in that house! There are doilies everywhere, the place is decorated in peachy colors, and the privy only has girly soaps that are shaped like flowers and other things of that sort! If I get out of there alive, I'm going to be surprised!"

"It does sound sort of bad. Bill and I are staying at that public house. It's kind of boozy, but it isn't bad."

"You're lucky! I wish Fagin had done the same!"

"But he's saving money that way," Leanne stated, remembering his shabby clothing.

"Yeah," Dodge stopped, "Well, I hope I see you tomorrow. I better get back to Hell on earth."

"Goodbye!" Leanne called. She watched as the boy trudged away in a sulky attitude.

Leanne made her way back to the public house. She ignored all the people who where drinking in the bar and went up a flight of stairs to the room that Bill had procured.

She went in and found Bill, sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper. He looked up and tossed the paper onto the bed.

"Guess what?!" Leanne smiled at her father, "I'm going to be in the paper!"

"What?! Why did yer do that! What did yer do anyway?!"

"A guy with a photograph machine took my picture," Leanne's voice dropped as she watched Bill's face turn to a scowl of dislike.

"What's the matter?" she asked after a short pause. She fingered the hem of her skirt and did not dare to look at him.

Bill made a noise of disgust and then said, "Never you mind. Just don't do that again, yer hear me?"

Leanne nodded.

"Good. Now, time for bed," he grabbed the girl and placed her on the bed. Leanne scrambled under the covers and Bill told her to go right to sleep. "Goodnight. I'll be up a while longer. I'm goin' downstairs so as not ter disturb yer."

He snatched up the paper and left the room. Leanne waited until he was gone to crawl out of bed. She tip toed over to her belongings and took up the small pad of paper and the pen. She lit a candle and began to write.

_Dear Mark,_

_I have done it again! I made Bill mad. No use in telling you the particulars, but I just wanted to let you know. I am still spending time with Jack. We are all in Edinburgh together. Bill is being moody a lot, but that is because he had a fight with Jack's grandfather. They used to be friends, but that has been changed. We don't have a house yet, but are staying at a public house just off the main road. Nothing else to say. God bless you._

_Your Friend, Leanne Sikes_

Leanne stowed away the paper and pen, folded and hid the letter, snuffed out the candle, and climbed back into bed. She was planning on mailing the letter first thing in the morning. She tugged the covers up over her head and was asleep within a few minutes. She felt better knowing that she could share her feelings with Oliver. Little did she know, though; Oliver would never read that letter.

**That was a strange chapter to write. I hope everyone enjoyed it! Just so everything is clear; My characters are based on the ones from the 1968 Oliver! musical. I hope that is o.k. Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	19. Gathering

**Gathering **

_The fame of two children brings several, different people together to fight for the common good._

Bet stepped out of her apartment. The sky was covered in clouds and the only signal of the early morning was a yellowed glow in the east. Several days had gone by in muggy, foggy drizzle. Bet had not left the house because of the weather, but had been forced out by a sign.

During her usual breakfast of tea and toast, she had spotted something that made her take a serious note of her life and what dregs it had come to. The thing that she saw was a group of orange, poppy plants. They had pervaded her window boxes for several years. But this year, they were different. The rain of the past few days had bent the limp stems and picked off the petals, leaving the plants broken, dead, and water-logged. Bet had stared at them as she sipped her tea and a thought occurred to her. She was just like them. She had spent the days, since her friends had left, in utter sadness and depression. Like the flowers, she had allowed her emotions to drag her down until she was limp with regret and self-pity. Something had to be done. The poppies may be beyond saving, but she was not.

Bet drained her tea and went to get herself ready. She brushed her hair and gave her face a good washing. After applying a bit of blush, so as to appear less pale, she wrapped herself up in a shawl, grabbed an umbrella, and left.

Now, she was out on her small porch. She looked around before descending the stairs. There were a few people about; even though it was quite early. Several men walked by on their way to work and a few women leant out of windows, trying to reel in the soggy laundry that was the remains of the nights showers. Bet stepped down until she hit the street. Not knowing where to go, she walked down the alley in a aimless manner. She looked about in a slight daze until she was brought back to reality by the first drops of the next downpour. Bet popped open her umbrella and continued on.

She turned a corner and saw a paper boy. He was standing on the corner and shouting at the passers-by with a clear voice, "Get your paper here! Only a penny!"

Bet walked over to him, "I'll take one." She fingered in her clutch-purse and handed the youth a penny.

"Here you are, ma'am," he handed her a copy and then went back to his sales-pitch with just as much gusto as before.

Bet walked a ways off and stood under a small canopy. She closed the umbrella and hung it over her arm. Now, she unfolded the paper.

On the cover, in bold letters, there read, '_First Selection of Photos!_' Bet looked at the pictures; there was a field of flowers, a house, a group of people outside a restaurant, a child sitting on a porch swing, and several others. Bet smiled and decided that they were nicely painted - in fact, they looked almost real! Although, Bet mused, they were not as clear as she would expect. Mostly they were blurred, faded, or washed out. She turned the page and looked at several others until, she was struck by something.

There, low on the page, was a large-sized picture of a boy and girl. The girl did not register in Bet's mind; she did not know who she was, but the boy did. The picture was a little blurry, but she could see enough to reason that what she saw was indeed the Dodger in all his glory. He wore his top-hat, his over-large coat, his neckerchief, and his shinny boots. Bet looked at the captioning, but found no names; all that it said was, 'Two children caress a sheep in Edinburgh.' Edinburgh! Bet had received a letter just two days previous from that city. It was proof enough in the girl's mind. Only two things were left for her to ponder; Why was Dodge petting a sheep and why was he with a girl?

Bet bit her lip. Just then, she looked up to notice someone walking towards her. It was a boy of about ten years, well-dressed, and carrying a paper. She recognized him as the boy who had caused so much chaos for Fagin; it was Oliver.

He came up to her and pulled off his hat in politeness, "Bet?"

She was not sure how to answer him, so she nodded.

"I was looking at the pictures and . . ," he paused to unfold the newspaper. Pointing to the picture of the two children, he asked, "Is that the Dodger?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well then," added Oliver, becoming a bit shaky at his own boldness, "I know the girl that's with him."

"Really?" Bet bent over to stare at the paper, "Who is it?"

"That's Leanne Sikes . . . she's Bill's daughter. She left with him and has been writing to me for the last few weeks. She's in Edinburgh, too."

"He has a daughter?!"

"Apparently so."

"By Nancy?" her eyes had grown wide at this new intelligence. "No! Surely not; I would have known!"

Oliver nodded in agreement at this fact, but said noting else.

"Fagin went with Dodge," added Bet, after a pause. "He has probably run into Bill," she sighed. "That will cause problems."

Oliver considered for a time and then spoke, "I'm going to show this to Mr. Brownlow. We might go and visit. Do you want to come along?"

"Could I? If so, then I will," she gave Oliver a small smile and added, "I need to get out more anyway."

"Come on then!" Oliver slid his hand through her arm and led her off towards his home.

Oliver had been removed to the richer district of Pentonville. There, he lived with Mr. Brownlow in a well-kemp house that stood on a shaded part of the street. He led Bet up to the front door, which was immediately opened wide by one of the servants.

"Mrs. Bedwin," Oliver said as they stepped inside the magnificent entryway, "This is Bet. She needs to speak to Mr. Brownlow about some important business."

"Right this way. I think he is in his study . . ," she led them up a flight of stairs to the second floor. All the while, she made small talk with Bet about the weather and other basic modes of conversation. "This is it here. Give me a minute and I will see if he can receive guests . . ," she opened the door a crack and inquired about the man's ability to have a short interview. After a few words, Mrs. Bedwin turned and said, "Go ahead." She smiled and went back down the stairs.

Oliver led Bet into the study. It was a medium-sized room with gigantic windows that verged to form a small nook on one wall and, on the other walls, mahogany shelves reached all the way up to the high ceiling. Ladders were positioned along the shelves so that anyone could reach the highest books and volumes. There were also several chandeliers that hung down from the roof, sending light bouncing around as the small crystal drops dangled from the fixtures. The floor was covered in nubby, jade-colored carpet and, in the middle of the room, there stood a desk and behind this desk, sat Mr. Brownlow.

He was bent over the desk and was scanning a leather-bound book with great interest and focus. He passed a magnifying glass over the pages and his lips moved ever so slightly as he read. Oliver, by repeating the gentleman's name, was, after a time, able to get his attention.

"Yes, my boy?" he looked up and, catching sight of Bet, stood up. "I am sorry madam. You wish to speak with me? Come and sit down," he motioned toward a leather chair. Bet sat down and Oliver took a seat next to her.

"Now then," resumed Mr. Brownlow. "What do you wish to speak to me about?"

"Well, . . ." Bet looked over at Oliver. "I wanted to talk about something in the newspaper." She handed it to the gentleman and continued, "There is a picture in there of two children - on the second page."

Mr. Brownlow smiled and turned the page, "This one?"

"Yes. That girl is a friend of Oliver's - they have been in touch for some time. . ."

The gentleman nodded and said, "Yes, Leanne."

"Well," Bet bit her lip, "I know the boy in the picture. Oliver says that you might . . ."

Oliver cut in, "Sir, I wanted to ask whether we could go visit her in Edinburgh? Bet wants to come along if we go and I would like to see her, Sir."

Mr. Brownlow considered for a moment, "You have gone camping with Mr. Losberne recently. I was hoping to start you on some more lessons soon . . . Well, I suppose that they can wait."

"Mr. Brownlow," Bet interjected. "I know Leanne's father. He is a brutal man . . . surely you can intervene. I don't know who her mother is, but obviously he had kidnapped the child. I never knew that he had a daughter before and I've known him for at least ten years. It's important." She stopped and looked over at Oliver, her eyes watering slightly, "That boy in the photo is very dear to me, also. I must see him."

"Is he yours, madam?"

"No. He's a close friend . . . No, more like family - the closest to one that I have ever known."

Mr. Brownlow sat down, his brow furrowed in serious thought, "Oliver, who is Leanne's father? Do you know?"

"Yes, Sir. It's Bill Sikes," Oliver dropped his voice and a spasm of terror seemed to cross his face.

The gentleman stood up suddenly and gripped the edge of the desk, "Madam you are absolutely right; something must be done. First though, we must find Leanne's mother. Then we can go up to Edinburgh. I assure you, Madam, everything shall be taken care of. We will be in touch. Please, give me your address."

Bet wrote down her mailing information on a small card and handed it to Mr. Brownlow.

The gentleman took the card and then eyed Oliver, "My boy, do you know who Leanne's mother is, by any chance?"

"She said her last name used to be Doris . . . that's all I know about it, Sir," Oliver stood up and fiddled with his hat.

"That will need looking up. Perfect place to start. Well, thank you, Madam. I will write to you as soon as possible - watch for the post boy," he smiled at Bet.

Bet thanked him for his time and Oliver guided her back down the stairs and out of the house. Once they were alone in the front garden, Oliver decided to be frank about his feelings.

"I was worried that you would do something to me when I first spoke to you. I am sorry, you're just as kind as Nancy was. I was really taking a chance."

"That's alright," Bet took his hand and squeezed it, "I felt the same way. I was worried that you would turn me in. Good thing that we trusted each other, isn't it?" She looked around at the garden and spotted a patch of orange poppies, "Would you mind if I picked one of those? Just to put in a vase on my table. It would mean a lot to me."

"Of course!" Oliver bent over and picked one of the blossoms and handed it to Bet. "I hope it keeps you cheerful."

"Thanks!" Bet walked down the pathway, leaving the boy standing on the doorstep.

"God bless you!" Oliver called after her. She turned, waved, and headed on at a peaceful gait, her umbrella swinging from her arm, and a smile on her face.

**That was a fun chapter to write! I am sorry about my slowness in writing it. I will try to do better in the future. PLEASE REVIEW! - Elaine Dawkins**


	20. A Way of Escape

**A Way of Escape**

_Fagin and Dodger continue to deal with the personality of Mrs. McGillian. A sudden wave of 'luck' comes their way._

Dodge trudged up the steps to the front door. He had been out, once again, for several hours. He had soon learned that this was the only way he could avoid Mrs. McGillian's attention; especially since the newspaper had arrived just the other day.

"Ooohh! Fagin! Look at this!" she had placed the paper in front of the old Jew's nose. "Isn't that just adorable!"

"Why, . . . yes," Fagin answered. He looked over at Dodge, who was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He scowled at the old Jew.

"I think that I shall frame it and put it on the wall; it's soooo cute!" she shuffled out of the room at a good speed in order to quickly achieve this end.

"Fagin!" Dodge spoke through gritted teeth. "I thought you were going to hide the paper this morning!"

"My dear, I tried, but the woman is just so . . . Um. Well, you come up with a word."

"How about 'meddling?!' And not to mention annoying! How much longer are we going to be here? I go out for several hours every day - and for nothing! You don't want me to pickpocket anymore, but there's nothing else to do. And besides, you still haven't found a job! If you expect me to be happy here, then you're waiting for a miracle! Well, I'm going out now - to do nothing, but wander the streets - and I plan on not being back till late!" with that, the boy crossed the room, opened the door, and then slammed it again after stepping out onto the porch.

That had happened a couple of days ago. Dodge still felt angry. He would not speak more than a few, well-chosen words to Fagin and he would avoid the presence of Mrs. McGillian at whatever cost. To anger the boy further, the old lady had not noticed anything, but (to Dodge's regret) Leanne had.

"What's the matter?" she had asked as they were resting in a field of purple heather and red clover.

"Nothing but the fact that my life is a continuous chain of annoyances!" He sat up suddenly as he said this.

"I'm sorry," Leanne could think of nothing else to say.

Today, Dodge wondered whether he even wanted to go into the house. He leant against the door and moaned - feeling that this action might relieve him of some angst. Just then, Mrs. McGillian came round the corner of the house. She was carrying a tub filled with laundry. She smiled, "Why don't you be a sweet lamb and come help me hang this on the line?"

Dodge didn't speak, but went ahead and followed her into the backyard, figuring that there was nothing he could do about it - that was legal, that is.

The backyard was shaped like a very long rectangle. Half of it was grass and the other half was the garden. There were several large, old willow trees that hung over the yard so that there was little sunlight. A great, green hedge kept most of the garden from view of the house.

"Why don't you hand me the clothes pins and I'll see if I can't get all this up on the line in two shakes of a lamb's tail?!" she pulled a shirt from the tub.

Dodge handed her a pin and managed to ask, "Is Fa . . Grandfather back yet?"

"No. I worry about that poor man! Being Jewish isn't all it's cracked up to be! I just wish there was something more I could do for him. I have been thinking about paying for your schooling in the fall. That would help him out!"

_School!_ Dodge thought,_ Not that!_ Fagin would never make him go to school and he would not go; she could not make him!

He continued to help the old lady until she had hung all the laundry and then he scampered off to his room in a mad hurry. He stayed there, on his bed, brooding, until he heard the front door open. He hurried over to the landing and looked down into the entryway.

Fagin looked up and their eyes met, "Nothing, my dear." He looked tired and discouraged.

"Can we talk?" Dodge whispered.

The Jew nodded and ascended the stairs. Dodge went ahead into his room. Fagin followed and shut the door. He then sat down on the bed, "What is it, my dear?"

"That lady is talking about me going to school in the fall!"

"Oh dear," Fagin sighed. "That is not right. Well, I will have a discussion - no!" He eyed Dodge, "I will send a letter down to London, my dear. I will explain my problems with work . . . and maybe . . . maybe they will let me return." He dropped his voice to a whisper.

Dodge's eyes lit up at the thought of returning to London. He grinned at the old Jew. Nothing more needed to be said; everything seemed right with the world. It was just the two of them and they were on good terms once again.

"It will be nice to be back in London!" Dodge mused. "Back where there's the Thames, the Bridge, amber ale, our old lodgings, Bet!" he flopped onto the bed, sending his hat flying in this new ecstasy.

"Ah yes, my dear! All the finer points in life!" Fagin moved over to the window. "Ah! So the Torturer is out in the garden."

"Is she?" Dodge came over and stood alongside the Jew.

Sure enough, there was Mrs. Gillian; weeding the garden. Her bent over form was just visible through the tree limbs and leaves.

Fagin shook his head, "There is nothing worse, my dear, than a plump woman bending over so as to make her backside become more obtrusive than ever . . . not to mention, I think I can see a bit of her corset."

Dodge laughed and Fagin gave a sheepish grin. After a minute he spoke, "It is almost time for dinner, my dear. Lets go down to the kitchen to see what dainty she has prepared for us tonight!"

They both went downstairs and into the kitchen. Neither of them had smelt anything on the way and that was a bit strange. Usually there would be the aroma of lamb, beef, or chicken. Along with a smell of greens and some sort of gooey dessert. Fagin looked around at the counters and saw no pans or any other cookery items lying about. He frowned in disappointment. Dodge tugged on the Jew's sleeve, "Look, she hasn't even set the table!"

"My dear," Fagin had a disquieted look on his face. "Go to the front door and wait for me. I will be right back, my dear," with that, he left the room.

Dodge ran to the front door. Fagin returned a few minuted later. He spoke quickly, "Dodge, I want you to run down to the nearest police station - you do know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Go down there and tell them that they need to come over. I will stay here. Now go!"

Dodge tore away from the house at a fast pace. Fagin went into the living room to await his return.

A while later, Dodge came back with two policemen behind him. Fagin told the boy to go upstairs and he did so, wondering what it all meant and what the old Jew was up to.

In the meantime, Fagin spoke to the policemen.

"What is the matter?" one of them asked.

"Mrs. McGillian, the owner of this house . . . she was out in the garden for a long time and when I went out to check on her . . . she was dead," Fagin hesitated a bit as he explained this startling fact - not because death afforded him any dread, but because he was distrustful of anyone having anything to do with the law or the government.

"Where at?" the policeman who had asked the previous question took out a pad and began to write.

"The garden."

"Are you related?"

"No, I'm a guest, along with my grandson, in her home."

"Native here?"

"No, an immigrant. I have my papers - here," he quickly handed them over.

"Your name's Fagin?"

"Yes."

"Can you show us the garden?"

Fagin nodded and they went out into the backyard. The Jew led them past the hedge and down a small pathway. There, slumped on the ground, was the old lady. She was bent over a row of carrots and still had a spade in her right hand.

The other policeman spoke up, "We need to get a doctor out here, along with a lawyer." He looked over at Fagin, "Go back inside the house and stay there until we return. Don't worry; we aren't counting you as a suspect. By the way, do you know how to contact her relatives, that is, If there are any?"

"I know she has children and grandchildren, but I don't know how to contact them."

"Can you search the house and see if she has any addresses written anywhere?"

Fagin nodded and ran back into the house.

On entering, he went to the most likely place to find addresses: the writing desk in the study. He pulled open a couple of drawers. Suddenly, an envelope caught his attention. It was fully addressed and had a bunch of papers stuffed inside. Fagin stared at the outside of it and his heart began to race. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was addressed to a law office and there was a small piece of paper that was attached with a paperclip. On it was Mrs. McGillian's handwriting. _Send tomorrow; changes to will._ Fagin would normally have grinned widely at such a find, but this was too much! He set the envelope down, forgetting to continue his search for family members' addresses, and ran upstairs, shaking uncontrollably. He found Dodge in one of the bedrooms, looking out of the window, down into the yard.

"My dear!" Fagin cried.

Dodge turned around and stared, "What is it?"

"We might be rich, my dear! She might have left us money . . Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed and wrung his hands in excitement.

"Then, she is dead?" the boy eyed Fagin with a look of distrust.

"Yes, yes, my dear!"

Dodge felt a bit startled by this information. He knew that he should be thrilled, but, surprisingly and confusingly, he felt ashamed. Something seemed to be whispering in his ear, 'You cursed her, you wished her dead.' Dodge turned away to face the window and felt a tear roll down his cheek, then another, and another. Within a minute, he was sobbing, tears streaming down his face and his body shaking uncontrollably.

The old Jew was uncertain of what to do; he had not expected this. He looked about as if hoping someone else would intervene - a woman, a member of the tender sex; someone used to comforting others and not looking ridiculous while doing it. He wished that Bet was there.

Dodge continued to cry and Fagin decided that he better say something. He coughed and then said, "My dear! You should be happy. What's wrong?"

The boy sniffed, swallowed, and answered, "I think . . . it's my fault . . . I hated . . . her . . . "

Fagin walked over and knelt down beside Dodge, "No you didn't my dear. She was old - older than me. It was probably bad health - she was overweight and she did cook huge meals, my dear." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Dodge reached up to touch the Jew's soft, worn gloves. The touch was a great comfort and he found that he was able to release most of his guilt. Dodge, swallowed a couple more times and then looked at Fagin, water still pooling in his eyes. He gave the old Jew a grin. Fagin smiled back and then said, "Rich, my dear! If nothing else, we are free!"

**Cheerio! That was an o.k. chapter (in my mind!). Anyway, I want to thank Broken Amethyst, Cedric Cadogen, and Charlene Bates for their wonderful support. Thanks guys! - Elaine Dawkins**


	21. Linda Doris

**Linda Doris**

_Mr. Brownlow contacts Leanne's mother. _

Mr. Brownlow, on reflecting over all that Bet and Oliver had said, decided that the best thing he could do was to go down to the police station. After taking his afternoon tea, he set off in that direction. He figured that perhaps Miss Doris had reported her daughter missing and had, therefore, called upon the aid of the nearest police force. This would be the easiest means of contacting the young lady since the police would have records and her address.

The rain had stopped and there were frequent breaks in the clouds that filtered yellow light downward to reflect in the many puddles that dotted the cobblestones. Mr. Brownlow walked along avoiding the puddles so as not to muddy his shoes. He swung his cane back and forth in a pleasant attitude as he strode down the many streets. Normally, he would have taken his carriage, but he felt that the weather was warm enough and he was in want of some exercise to awaken his ever aging frame.

All the while, he continued to turn the matter over in his mind. He wondered why Oliver had been uninterested in telling of Leanne's father's identity. That seemed out of character. Perhaps though, she had asked him to keep it a secret. Well, Oliver usually had better sense than that and would have told anyway, simply because it would do the poor girl well and because someone needed to intervene. Bill, Mr. Brownlow knew, from the boy's terrible description, was not someone to leave alone. He needed to be caught - to be taken off the streets - for the benefit of society. Of course, that, Mr. Brownlow mused with a bit of regret, would be harder to do now that he was up in Scotland. The Queen did hold some control of their northern neighbor, but not total control. There were channels and ladders that would need to be traversed before they could take a considerable amount of action. There would have to be a cooperative agreement between the English police force and the Scotland Yard. Luckily, in situations involving criminals, there was usually little argument between the two sides; neither wanted to be plagued by thieves or murderers. Yes, this could be a long process, but Scotland would be more than willing to give Bill up to the British; anything to get him off their land and out of their claim of responsibility.

Mr. Brownlow finished this thought and stepped inside the front doors of the court house.

After a while of talking with the authorities, Mr. Brownlow was able to attain Miss Doris' address. He told the police that he wanted to handle the main task himself, but that he would need the assistance of the government once he got to Edinburg. When asked why they could not simply have Bill arrested at once, Mr. Brownlow stated that since the girl was with Bill, it would only cause more fuss than could be easily dealt with. All in all, by the time Mr. Brownlow was able to leave, the authorities were quite intrigued by his knowledge in such matters. They were more than willing to collaborate and they hailed the gentleman as their "savior." The chief officer said it best when he replied, "Well, now that takes care of that! On with the next case!"

Arriving back on the cobblestones, Mr. Brownlow called for a carriage. He was in too much of a hurry (or maybe excitement would be a better word) to walk all the way back to his residence. A carriage driver reigned in his horses and Mr. Brownlow got in. Calling to the driver the name of the village toward which he wanted to travel, he settled himself upon the soft cushions and they were off at a galloping speed.

The trip, which had taken Bill two laborious days, took the carriage only three hours. With this accelerated travel time, Mr. Brownlow arrived in Fernbury. The town was in the midst of the mid-afternoon festivities. The farmers where out feeding their cattle and surveying the crops, the women were out doing laundry, scrubbing porches, and talking with neighbors, the children were wandering around in the fields, playing and chewing on bits of wheat.

The carriage driver stopped once they had reached the main street and Mr. Brownlow dismounted the vehicle. He searched down the street, left and right, looking for the right house. After a few minutes, he came across the right one. It was a small, two story cottage with blue shutters and a sunny, yellow door. He went up the walkway and, on reaching the porch, rapped at the door with the tip of his cane. The door was opened a sliver; just enough so as to see the face of a young lady. Miss Doris opened the door farther and Mr. Brownlow was able to get a full view of her.

She was tall and slender in body. The long, straight, blond hair that cascaded around her face and down her back perhaps made her look thinner than she actually was, but also, Mr. Brownlow observed, she had been (undoubtedly) under much stress and worry over her lost daughter and that would make anyone lose weight.

Linda's brown eyes widened a bit and she asked in a soft voice, "May I help you?"

Mr. Brownlow tipped his hat and replied, "My lady, I hope this is not a bad time, but I have information about your daughter, Leanne."

Linda's eyes widened further and she quickly backed away from the door. "Of course I have time! Come in, come in. Have a seat over there by the fire," she motioned with her hand and pointed toward the parlor.

"Why, thank you."

Mr. Brownlow sat down in a chair opposite the young lady. Linda eyed him with a blank stare, preparing herself for any, possibly negative, news. Her lips were pressed together and she sat in a stiffened position. "What have you found or heard?" she asked after a pause, in the same soft voice.

"Well, my lady, let me just say that your daughter seems to be in no danger at the present."

"Oh gracious! I have been praying that she be out of harms way!" Miss Doris clasped her thin fingers together and she lifted her eyes to heaven as she spoke.

"I'm sure you have. Now, let me tell you that I know where she is."

"Yes?!" The young lady bent nearer to the gentleman, a look of hope changing her otherwise emotionless features.

"She," continued Mr. Brownlow, "She is in Edinburgh. Do you, Miss Doris, know a man by the name of Bill Sikes?"

"Yes, that is, I did. That was years ago. I don't, honestly, put any thought to him."

"Well, Leanne is with him."

Linda vigorously shook her head in disbelief, "No, that can't be right."

"My lady, 'can't' can mean the impossibility, but it can also mean the fact that we simply will not except whatever situation. I believe that in your case, it means the latter. There is possibility, in fact, I have proof," Mr. Brownlow pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. "Here you are. Read it."

Linda grasped the envelope. She opened the flap and then extracted several small pieces of paper. She looked up at Mr. Brownlow, "This is Leanne's writing . . . She has been sending you letters?"

"Not to me, my lady, but to a boy I adopted a few months back. His name is Oliver. The letter says Mark on it, but that is a pen name. Oliver has met Mr. Sikes and was entrusted with this knowledge so, therefore, the two of them have been very discrete about the whole thing. But you should read it."

Miss Doris lowered her gaze and slowly read the entire letter. Once she had finished, she looked back up. "I need to go get her," she looked a bit startled, "That's what I've got to do."

"Yes," Mr. Brownlow nodded and gave the young lady a smile. "Oliver and I (along with another friend of Oliver's) are planing on leaving as soon as possible - perhaps even today. We can all go together."

"I'll start packing," there was now a note of urgency in Linda's soft voice. "Thank you, sir. I will be back in fifteen minutes!" she raced from the room and ascended the stairs.

A while later, Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris were in a carriage, headed for London. The trip culminated at the doorstep of Bet's residence.

"What a desolate place to live," Linda looked out of the carriage windows. "So Bet lives here? My . . ." She placed a gloved hand across her mouth and had a pitying expression on her face.

"I will be back as soon as I can," Mr. Brownlow got out and headed up the stairs towards Bet's doorstep.

Bet was inside her kitchen eating dinner. She was just half-way through her lamb cutlet when she heard a rapping at her door. She hastily got up and went to see who was calling. Finding that the visiter was Mr. Brownlow, she soon forgot about her dinner.

"Have you found Leanne's mother?! Are we going now?!" her eyes gleamed and her face was spread into a joyful smile.

"Yes, I have found her."

"I'll get my things!" Bet rushed off towards her bedroom.

She came back a while later with a suitcase in one hand. Reaching the form of Mr. Brownlow, she gave him a quick hug and kiss, "Thank you, Thank you!!! I can't wait to see Jack again!"

"Is that the boy's name?"

Bet nodded, too excited to answer. She pushed past Mr. Brownlow, went through the door, and descended the stairs in several quick bounds. She climbed into the carriage, introduced herself to Linda, and then looked out to see what was keeping Mr. Brownlow. Miss Doris looked at the girl in a fascination that surprised Bet. She asked, "What's the matter?"

"It's just . . . well, I have never seen anyone get so excited in all my life. Well, actually - that is - except my daughter when I make strawberry tarts."

"Oh, well . . . I'll try to calm down," Bet grinned and then scooted over so as to leave enough room for Mr. Brownlow. She addressed him now, "Lets get this show in the road! I know we still need to get Oliver."

Mr. Brownlow nodded and then shouted to the carriage driver to spur the horses on.

**It has been a long time since I posted and I am sorry! I hope everyone finds this chapter at least a bit interesting. Please Review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	22. Sour Grapes

**Sour Grapes**

_A continuation of Fagin's and Dodge's journey towards freedom._

The police came back within half an hour along with a lawyer and a doctor. The doctor went immediately into the garden to have a look at Mrs. McGillian's body, leaving the lawyer and the police to have a private meeting with the old Jew. They gathered in the study and went slowly through the old lady's stacks of paperwork and other odds and ends. Fagin pulled paper after paper from the desk and the lawyer scrutinized them under a magnifying lens. After a while, they were able to identify a handful of letters that were sent by family. "Here you are, lads," Mr. Norman, the lawyer, handed a stack of envelopes to the two officers, "There's her two daughters, Julia Fromb and Carol Nettle. Within the letters are mentioned five grandchildren: Jonathan, Nathan, and Alexandria Fromb and Courtney and Ruthurd Nettle. Julia and Carol's husbands are: Mr. Hubert Fromb and Mr. Gregory Nettle. Here are the addresses." The officers looked at the letters and then handed them off to Fagin. They told him that since he was the one to discover the body and since he knew the old lady, he would be the best person to contact the family members. The Jew was loathe to do such a thing, but he did not disclose this feeling and, in the end, was forced to write the letters under the watchful gaze of the lawyer. After Fagin had written the letters, Mr. Norman brought up a new issue. He cleared his throat in an important manner and began as though he were giving a public address, "Here, sirs, is the will! I will not read it or even break the seal - not yet!" he held up his hand in a motion of protest. "I will soon, though! And I will keep in touch until the rest of the family arrives. There will be a gathering and then, lads, it will be opened and read," he paused to catch his breath and then lowered his voice. "I must get going then. Contact me when they arrive, Mr. Fagin!" With that, he took up his hat, coat, and cane. He left without another word. The officers followed suit and Fagin was left to converse with the doctor.

The old Jew went out into the yard and headed for the garden. The doctor was knelt on the ground beside the body and he was frantically scribbling on a pad of paper. He looked up as Fagin approached. He nodded a few times and then returned to his work.

Fagin, feeling a need to satisfy his curiosity, decided to ask the doctor the question that was most bothering him, "What did she die of, my dear?"

"Don't know. I'd only be able to know . . ," he scratched his head, "I'd have to open her." He eyed Fagin as thought he were waiting to see him squirm, but the Jew, unlike most people, was unmoved by such ideas.

"I suppose you will take her away then?"

"Most certainly. I have my carriage out front. Care to help me lift her? She's sort of . . . well . . ."

"Obese, my dear. I don't care if you tell the truth," Fagin grinned, "I'll take the bottom if you take the top."

"The feet you mean?"

Fagin shook his head, "No, I mean her derrière. Of course I mean her feet!" He rolled his eyes and then bent over to lift Mrs. McGillian by the ankles.

The doctor seemed not to hear him. He was struggling to lift Mrs. McGillian's heavy form off the ground. He sucked in a gasp of air through his teeth and was finally able to support and carry the body. They made their way through the garden gate and out onto the front lawn. After lifting the old lady into the back of the carriage, the doctor left and Fagin went back inside the house.

Dodge was sitting across one of the over-stuffed chairs. His feet dangled over one arm-rest and his head over the other. There was an apple in his right hand and he was chewing on his latest bite. The old Jew walked over and rested his arms on the back of the chair. He looked down at the boy in silence. Dodge looked up and, after swallowing, asked, "Is she gone?"

Fagin nodded, "Yes, my dear. The doctor does not know what did it, but mind you it had something to do with her figure . . ." His voice trailed off. After a moment, he added, "I suppose I should cook something. And you could help me."

Dodge took another bite of his apple and then made a quick arm movement that pantomimed the act of chucking the fruit at the Jew's face. The boy laughed as Fagin jumped back. "I was only joking," Dodge threw the apple up in the air and caught it, "Sure, I'll help you."

They went into the kitchen and Fagin opened the pantry. He peered inside and found a couple of apple barrels, some sacks of rice, canned vegetables, and several glass bottles of olive oil. The Jew stepped in a few feet and grabbed a sack of rice and a can of sweetened onions. He placed these items on the counter and ordered Dodge to procure for him a medium-sized pan. The boy began searching in the cabinets and Fagin headed down into the cold-cellar to find some sort of meat. On entering, he found just what he was looking for; sausage. There were several links hanging from the ceiling rafters. He took one of the links down and went back into the kitchen. Dodge had found a pan and had even rubbed it with a bit of the olive oil.

Fagin began to slice the sausage. After a minute, he spoke, "I hope you don't mind sausage, my dear?"

Dodge, who would have normally crinkled his nose at such a question, for once, remarked that he would be fine with it; not because he liked sausage, but because it reminded him of home and because it seemed like such a long time since they had last eaten it. "I don't mind it," he said, "just don't cook it every night!"

The old Jew grinned and replied, "What if that is all I know how to cook?"

"Then, you best start saving up because I will be eating at lots of restaurants if you do!"

They both laughed and then went back to the task at hand.

Late at night, or more correctly, quite early in the morning, something unexpected happened.

Fagin was in bed. He was deeply asleep and was even snoring a bit. Dodge was in the next room asleep also. Suddenly, they were both awoken by several loud whacks at the front door. The old Jew jumped out of bed, went out into the hallway, and ran into Dodge. The boy, although still in a sleepy state, looked quite alarmed. The whacking was repeated. Fagin and Dodge stiffened. Dodge whispered, "There's several of them." The Jew nodded and added, "My dear, why don't you head on down and I'll follow you?" Dodge vigorously shook his head, "You go down!" Fagin cleared his throat and his voice became more commanding, "Go on!" He pushed the boy toward the stairway. Dodge descended the stairs, still feeling the Jew's hand on his back. Coming to the entry, Fagin stepped ahead and looked through the peephole. There were two men, two women, and several children all standing on the doorstep. Fagin groaned and mumbled, "It's her relatives - and at this hour, my dear! I shall be forced to feed and house them!" After stating these facts, he opened the door.

"Finally!" came the voice of one of the women. She added, "I know it's late, but we wanted to come as soon as possible."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Fagin grinned and then turned away and rolled his eyes toward Heaven.

The whole group followed him into the parlor. The younger children immediately flopped onto the chairs and the others stood still, staring at Dodge. The adults shoed the youngsters off the furniture and then sat down themselves. An introduction was then made by one of the men, "This is my wife, Julia, her sister Carol, her husband, Gregory, their children, Courtney and Ruthurd. These are our children, Jonathan, Nathan, and Alexandria. My name is Hubert. We received your letter several hours ago. We came as fast as we could."

"Then the lawyer will be back tomorrow. I suppose you are all tired?" Fagin wrung his hands, but tried to appear genuinely concerned.

"Yes," replied Carol and sighed.

"There are the couches and there is one other guest room . . ."

"Don't worry about us," commented Gregory, "We'll worry about ourselves. You might as well go back to bed."

"Thank you," the old Jew paused, "By the way, My name if Fagin and this is my grandson, Jack."

The adults all nodded and said hello to Dodge. After a moment, they were talking amongst themselves and Fagin and Dodge were able to go back upstairs.

"Well, at least we will get to find out how much money she left us!" Fagin slid back under the covers and Dodge sat down at the foot of the bed.

"You think we will get a good amount?"

"Certainly, my dear! She adored you - remember? And, although I hate admitting it - she took a bit of a fancy toward me."

The boy began to laugh and Fagin was forced to hit him upon the head with a pillow. "It is not that funny, my dear!"

Dodge rolled onto the floor and said, before leaving the room, "I know, but she did have quite a crush on you!"

As it turned out, the lawyer was called out early the next morning. All who were involved gathered together in the living room. Mr. Norman stood up in front of the fireplace and everyone fell silent. He pulled the will from his pocket and opened the seal. He snapped open the paper that the envelope contained and began to read aloud. Fagin did not pay much attention until the lawyer began to list off everyone's benefits. Every time a name was called, the Jew would look up and then lower his gaze once he realized that the name did not belong to him or his young protégé. At last, after almost an hour, the lawyer announced, "And here's the last name!" Everyone stared at him - especially Fagin. "To Quincy, who has been my best friend for many years, I leave the remainders of my property."

Julia snorted in an unhappy manner. There were several whispers and a few pointed and rude remarks about Quincy. Fagin wanted to join in, but could not find his voice. Dodge spoke up, "Mr. Norman?"

"Yes?"

"What about Grandfather and I?"

The lawyer looked once again at the paper. He turned it over, upside-down, and even sideways, "I don't see any mention of either of you." He shrugged and said, "Sorry."

At this point, Fagin found his voice. He stepped forward and addressed the crowd, "Everyone! I must say that this is a blatant unkindness. We were the one's who found her body, called out the police, and many other acts . . . and we, we get nothing? That is . . . I, I can't come up with a terrible enough word, my dears!" With that, he grabbed Dodge by the arm and they both left the house.

**I know it's been a while since I last updated. School has been keeping me quite busy! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Please Review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	23. Important Discussion

**Important Discussion**

_Bill is confronted by an old acquaintance._

As the day was drawing toward the noon hour, Leanne lay in the great moorland amid purple heather. She was stretched out and was looking up at the dark, blue sky through the flower stems. The girl had stayed here in this still position for a good hour. She breathed in the fresh air and then exhaled slowly. A smile spread across her face, but it was not on account of the breeze; it was on account of Oliver.

Leanne had not seen Oliver for quite a while, but that did not matter as long as she could still picture what he looked like. This was why she smiled. She was picturing Oliver and her, running through the fields and communing with nature together. What a lovely picture! They were holding hands, running, laughing. Nothing else mattered; there were no adults, no rules, nothing to disturb them from their pleasure.

Now, a new thought occurred. She was running through the same field, but Oliver was not there. Instead, there was Jack. Why Jack? Leanne crinkled her nose and shook her head; that was silly! Jack was a friend, but a wanna-be boyfriend? That was insane. The boy did have some personality features that Leanne admired; he was courageous, autonomous, and he could be quite witty. The only problem was the fact that he also had characteristics that Leanne could not always cope with; he could be arrogant, stubborn, and unsympathetic. Those were the very things that Oliver did not posses.

On coming to this final thought, Leanne decided that she loved Oliver and only liked Jack. That was a fact.

A toad jumped onto Leanne's stomach. She screamed and jumped up in fright. Rubbing the front of her dress with her hands, she looked about for the amphibian. She saw him laying on his back, his weight bending a few heather stems. He kicked his legs and flipped himself over and onto the dirt. Leanne wanted to pick it up, but her mother had always forbade her to do so on account of the fact that toads were, by nature, sticky, bumpy, fat, and all-together unpleasant creatures. Leanne reflected for a moment and then wished that she had a jar handy. Then, she could look at the toad up-close without even needing to touch it.

The toad began to half-hop, half-crawl away through the heather. Leanne decided to ignore it. She looked up at the sun and found that it was directly above her. Bill would be worried if she did not appear soon, so the girl picked up her bonnet, tied it under her chin, and ran off toward the dirt road.

Leanne passed by several farms and she began to wonder why she had travelled so far and lingered for so long. It always seemed that she was getting in trouble these days. Why was that? Leanne paused in front of a cattle farm and leant against the wooden fence to catch her breath. She looked about and tried to decide on what the fastest method was for getting back into Edinburgh. 'As the crow flies' was what she was always told, but, unfortunately, she would have to jump over fences and cross personal property to do so.

Taking a deep breath, Leanne headed on at an even more frenzied pace.

Ten minutes later, she was back in the city and had almost reached the pub. She paused one last time. Unexpectedly, she heard a voice that she recognized.

"I hope to never ride on a boat again!"

"I am so sorry, my lady. We can go the long way when we head back."

"Thanks. Let me just rest for a moment. Ugh! I hate feeling nauseous!"

Leanne walked quietly over. She peered around the side of a brick building. There, just as she had hoped, was her mother! Miss Doris was sitting on the edge of the fountain that stood in the city square. Her hair was freed from her bonnet and it cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Next to her was an elderly man whom Leanne had never met. He spoke to her mother and then walked away.

Leanne felt her heart pounding in her chest and, after giving it some though, raced out from behind the building. In seconds, she was in her mother's arms. Linda was startled, but very relieved. She tightened her grip on her daughter and began to cry. She murmured, "Leanne, my little Leanne . . . I was terribly worried."

Leanne began to sob. She coughed a few times and was only able to respond with, "Momma, momma, momma . . ."

Miss Doris eventually let go of her daughter. She wiped her eyes and asked in a soft voice, "What has been going on?"

The girl struggled for a moment. She did not know what exactly to say. She twisted her fingers together in a distracted manner and then replied, "Dad took me on a trip . . ."

Linda shook her head and frowned, "No, my love. Have you been treated well?"

"Yes. He's been very nice; I like him."

At that moment, the elderly gentleman returned. He was carrying a glass of water. He handed it to Miss Doris and raised his eyebrows in surprise as he noticed Leanne.

"She found me," Linda replied and wiped away a few new tears.

"That's just wondrous!" Mr. Brownlow paused in thought, "Maybe . . . Yes, just maybe, she would like to stay with me while you attend to some business."

Linda nodded and then began to gather her blond hair underneath her bonnet. She added, "I would like you to come along, Mr. Brownlow. I might need some assistance." She then turned to her daughter, "Leanne? Where is your father?"

"The public house, over there, on that street," she pointed down a ways.

"Thank you, sweetie," she gave Leanne a kiss and then said, "There is someone else who wants to see you. You can stay with him while I go talk to your father. He's . . ."

The elderly gentleman cut in, "Over there looking in the shop windows. There near that candy shop."

"Go on," Linda placed her frail hand upon her daughters shoulder.

Leanne walked away and then Miss Doris spoke to Mr. Brownlow, "I hope this goes quickly and smoothly."

"I hope so to. Should we get the police?"

Linda bit her lip and thought, "No . . . he wouldn't talk then. I think I can handle him and then, after we get some information, we can have him arrested."

Mr. Brownlow nodded, took the lady by the arm, and then led her down the street.

The public house was, surprisingly, a very busy place at this time of day. There were men coming and going at an alarming rate. People having a drink during their lunch breaks or just ordering lunch itself. There were a good amount of sailors playing poker, business men sipping gin, and much laughing, joking, and talking. Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris went up to the bar. The elderly gentleman tried to get the barman's attention, but that was next to impossible on account of the number of drinks that were consistently being ordered.

Linda groaned in impatience. Deciding to take action, she turned around to face the room at large and began to bang her hand on the bar. The banging and thudding caused the noise of voices to subside and everyone's eyes were directed at Linda. She quickly raised her voice to a slightly higher tone, which was quite different from her usual meek and gentle tone. She changed her features into a glare and asked with a chilly attitude, "Does anyone know where Bill Sikes is?!" She eyed the crowd and the barman, with a surprised look on his face, said in a careful manner, "Upstairs, ma'am. Room twenty-eight."

"Thank you!" Linda marched up the creaky staircase, making thudding noises as her boots hit the steps. The noise in the main room did not continue until she had reached the upper floor.

Linda walked down the tiny hallway until she reached the right room. She rapped at the door and then stood there, frowning and with her hands on her hips.

Bill had been sitting on the bed and was in the process of trying to thread a needle. He never had learned to sew, but he had learned, over the years, how to mend tears in his clothing. He had ripped open one of his coat seams and was planning on stitching it together. The only problem was the needle.

Bill squinted at the small eyelet and tried to pass the thread through it. He had finally been able to force part of the thread through the hole, when he heard the rapping at the door. Startled from his concentration, Bill grunted, poked himself with the needle, lost the thread, and made a terrible oath. He grunted, "Open it yerself!"

Linda opened the door and walked into the room with much determination. Bill was stunned, but was quite skilled at hiding it. "Wot do yer want?!" he stood up and looked Miss Doris in the face.

"I want to know why you took my daughter . . . you . . . you," Linda, finding that no word in her personal vocabulary was satisfactory, slapped Bill across the arm.

Bill acted as though the lady had not touched him and remarked, "Feisty, I see."

Miss Doris' face turned red and she tried to keep her voice steady, "I said; I want to know . . ."

"She's mine, ain't she?! I took what's mine an' that's all. Discussion done!" he sat back down on the bed and muttered, "Yer can leave now!"

"Don't you want to know . . ."

"I don't care a livin' word of it!"

"I'll tell you this then; I have her - I found her a few minutes ago," Linda's voice had become somewhat peppered with gloating.

"She's mine so give her back! Ah, 'ave more right to her - that's wot the government says an' I don't mind tellin' the government!"

"Why?!"

"Why?! Cause I like her an' she likes me - that's why!"

"She likes you . . . yes, that's one thing I know."

Bill eyed Linda and waited for further explanation, but none came. Linda sat down on the bed across from Bill and began to weep. Bill tried to ignore her and began to fumble with the needle and thread. After a moment, Linda spoke.

"You sew?"

Bill grunted, but was far from interested in replying.

Linda wiped her eyes and asked, "What did you both do while you were traveling?

"Well, . . . we camped in the country, went to rest'rants, stayed in a hotel, went on a boat ride, an' now I'm trying ter find a job."

"A job?"

"A job - a real one if yer wonderin'."

"Can I help you with that?"

"The job?"

"No, threading that needle."

Bill handed it off and Linda licked the thread and then guided it through the eyelet. "Here," she handed it back.

"What kind of a job are you looking for and why?" Linda's voice had now dropped to it's usual softness.

"I will take whatever looks good an' whatever is worth my time. An' I'm doin' it so as I can get a house an' be able to raise Leanne proper-like."

"Oh," Miss Doris stood up, "I plan on staying here for a few days. I'll talk to Leanne and see what she says about this whole affair. Maybe we can work something out."

"Linda?" Bill spoke.

Linda turned around to face Bill.

"I want her back until we can talk abou' this further," he eyed her.

"I will send her back in a bit. I promise."

She left and shut the door.

Bill began to slowly stitch his coat back together. While he worked, he pondered how Linda could have tracked him down and how she could have enough insight to know that he had Leanne. Bill began to wonder whether Fagin had contacted her. She had been introduced to Fagin once - no! that could not be it; Fagin had been in jail and probably did not have the time to travel over to Ferndale. Besides, how could he possibly know about Ferndale? It was impossible. Bill could think of no one else who could have squealed other than Leanne. But, she had been with him the entire time and he never had seen her do anything suspicious. At least, he thought he had never seen her do anything out of the ordinary.

Bill pricked himself with the needle. He made a strange sound through his teeth and then sucked out the blood that had appeared on his thumb. _Enough thinking; more concentrating!_ He told himself _Yer don't wanna turn inter a pin cushion. Yer can think abou' this later!_

**Another chapter finished!!! Things are starting to come together. Please leave a review! I would like to thank all my faithful reviewers, who were with me from the beginning, and my new reviewers. Thanks everyone!**


	24. Reconnection

**Reconnection**

_A short dialog between Leanne and a very good friend._

Leanne walked slowly over towards the candy shop. As she came closer, she recognized the boy and began to pick up her speed. She came within a very close proximity when the boy turned around, a smile on his face. "Hi, Leanne!" his eyes lit up and his smile broadened, "Want some toffees?" He held up a small bag.

"Yes, thank you," Leanne reached inside the bag and took out a couple of the soft candies. She began to untwist the wrapper off of one. As she did this, Oliver spoke.

"How have you been? Alright, I suppose . . ."

Leanne nodded and then tried to show the boy that her mouth was clamped shut on account of the sticky candy.

Oliver laughed as Leanne tried to swallow. "Good isn't it?" Oliver laughed and then began to chew on another piece.

"They're . . . really sticky!" Leanne coughed a couple of times.

"I love them," the boy placed the bag in his trousers pocket and then continued. "I hope you don't mind all this . . . I wasn't planning on telling . . . I just . . ."

Leanne nodded and then replied, "I'm glad you're here. I'm ready to go back home."

"And Mr. Sikes?"

"He's been a bit worried about me - I think. Terribly nervous or something. Mom will probably fix that."

Oliver turned away and covertly shook his head. Turning back, he said, "I have been wondering; who is Jack?"

"The boy I met on the beach."

"What beach?"

"The beach that's near London - I think."

"Can I meet him?"

Leanne paused for a second in thought. She was not sure that she wanted Oliver to meet Jack. What if they hit it off and ignored her? That could ruin any chance of their ever getting married. Besides, she really wanted to just spend these precious moments with Oliver alone. Leanne sighed and responded, "Maybe later."

Oliver looked a bit concerned, "Alright. Want to walk around for a bit?"

Leanne nodded and they headed off down the street. They paused whenever there was an especially interesting display in a shop window or if they wanted to unwrap a few more toffees. Oliver would ask questions about the area, the people, and many other varied things. Leanne was always happy to answer his questions; partly because he would often laugh and because she knew that he was honestly listening to her with much interest and rapt attention.

They paused for a time in a small square and listened to a street band. Oliver grinned and made a comment about the men wearing short skirts. "Those are kilts," Leanne giggled.

"I know. I just wouldn't want to wear one myself."

"Oliver?"

"Yes," the boy turned to face her.

Leanne swallowed and found that the gaze of Oliver caused her mind to fog and her throat to tighten. She took a deep breath and then blurted out, "I love you."

Oliver's eyes widened and he pulled Leanne away and down an alley. Leanne felt tears in her eyes as Oliver did this and by the time he had let go of her, she was weeping. "It's alright," Oliver consoled her. "I just saw someone that scared me; that's all." He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the girls eyes.

"Who did you see?" Leanne sniffed and then swallowed.

"Fagin."

At that name, Leanne went running out of the alley. She came up to the old Jew and said, "Good morning!"

Fagin turned and quickly changed his countenance from that of annoyance to that of friendliness. "And good morning to you, too, my dear."

"Morn'in," Dodge added.

"Heading off to . . ?"

"Some place new to stay, my dear," Fagin cut in.

"Could you tell me something?" Leanne asked with a note of urgency in her voice.

Fagin nodded, "Whatever you want to know, my dear."

"What do you know of Oliver?"

Dodge narrowed his eyes and then shook his head as if to say, "That's a taboo word; you shouldn't say it."

The Jew cleared his throat and replied, "I don't know who you are referring to." With a forced grin, he began to walk away.

Leanne, noting that her prey was getting away, seized the old Jew by the hem of his green coat. Fagin stopped and looked down at the girl. She had a determined look on her face and was apparently readying herself to say something. After staring for an instant, she spoke, "Oliver says that he knows you . . . I am sure that he would not lie! What did you do to him to make him afraid of you?!"

The grin on Fagin's face turned to a look of deep annoyance. He slapped the girls hands, so as to make her let go of his clothing, and walked determinedly away, pulling Dodger along as he did so.

Usually, Leanne would not have been so easily deterred, but the Jew's demeanor, the way he spoke, and the way he had slapped her all caused her to retreat back to the alley.

Oliver was crouching behind a trash can. He peered out from behind it when he heard Leanne's footsteps approaching. Once, she had stopped in front of him, he whispered, "Is he gone?"

"Yes, you can come out now. What did he ever do to you?"

"Oh, well . . ," Oliver brushed the dust off his coat and shook his head. "I guess I should tell you . . . He is (or maybe was) a 'kidsman.'"

"A what?"

"He trains children to steal and then hordes all the profits himself. I got caught up in all that mess about a month back - it was hell." Oliver nodded his head as he said this and then bent down to lace up one of his boots.

"That's awful . . . I thought he was a very nice old man . . ."

"He's got a sweet demeanor alright. But that doesn't matter - what really matters is that we get out of here and head back to the hotel we're staying in. Come on," he took Leanne's hand and they walked back out into the street.

"Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"Did you hear what I last said to you - you know, before we ran off?"

"Not really, I was distracted. Sorry," Oliver looked over at her and gave a weak smile.

"Well," Leanne tightened her grip on the boy's hand, "I said that I loved you."

"Oh, well, I love you, too."

"Honestly?"

"Of course. Do I lie to you?"

"Never!" Leanne smiled and then ventured, "Do you think you would marry me?"

Oliver bit his lip in thought, "Yes . . , but after several years."

"I thought so."

**Thanks for reading!! I know it has been a loooong time since I last wrote, but I have been busy. Please leave a review! Thanks again to my faithful reviewers! - you're all really great people! - Elaine Dawkins**


	25. Terry Hudgins

**Terry Hudgins**

_Fagin and Dodge come across an individual who is odd, yet terribly kind._

Dodger felt a small pang of guilt as he was shoved forward and away from Leanne. He gave Fagin a swift glance and then lowered his head to stare at his shadow that was splayed across the pavement. He hoped that the girl had not begun to hate him or blame him for the old Jew's abrupt coarseness of behavior. Perhaps, he mused, she would blame the behavior on herself; besides, it had been she who had roused the Jew's hidden regrets and failings. After finishing these thoughts, Dodge looked back up at Fagin. The Jew's head was facing straight ahead, yet his eyes raced back and forth in a hurried manner. He appeared to be slightly disturbed and a little wary of all that surrounded him.

Being a long-time companion, and having an understanding for all the moods of Fagin, Dodge reasoned that this would be the best time to speak up.

"Fagin?"

Fagin shook his head in a frantic manner and replied, "Yes?"

"I mean 'Grandfather' . . . where are we headed to now?"

The old Jew bit his lip and wondered what to say. After a pause, he reasoned aloud, "I don't have much money . . . can't afford to stay somewhere . . . My dear, for once I am quite perplexed!"

Dodge nodded and then asked, "So . . . it's back to the fogles an' wipes then?" He ended the question in a soft voice.

Fagin shrugged, "Can't really chance it, my dear - er, I don't want to chance it . . ." He eyed the boy and then lifted his head up to look at the sky.

Abruptly, there was a sneezing sound. Dodge and Fagin spun around just in time to see a young man, bent over behind them, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief. He sneezed a second time and then smiled, "My . . .eh . . . allergies . . . sorry, eh . . . dusty streets . . . I try not to . . .eh, you're looking . . . I'm sorry . . . that . . . my house . . . warm . . . would you like to . . . for a while . . . don't mind . . . what think you?" He paused, a bit embarrassed.

Fagin gaped and then said, hoping not to offend the man, that he was unsure about what to do.

The young man came closer and touched the Jew on the shoulder, "You . . . my house . . .eh . . . I give you . . . stay . . ." His face turned red as he said this and he looked as if he wanted to run and hide.

Dodge looked up at Fagin and said, "I think he wants us to stay with him."

Fagin nodded and then said, "I think we will be fine, thank you my dear."

The man made a motion with his hand and then began to speak, trying to do so as fast as he could, "My house . . my house . . you . . stay . . stay . . free . . I promise . . please . . please sir . . ."

Unable, to dissuade the young man, Fagin conceded and they were led off down a narrow street. The man immediately introduced himself as Terry Hudgins, "A blacksmith . . . eh, I have . . . a shop . . . there!" He pointed to a building with a small shed attached. Terry smiled with pride, "My home . . . upstairs . . . plenty of room . . . like guests. . . lots of guests . . . lonely I am."

Fagin cleared his throat, "So, you do much hammering, my dear?"

Terry nodded, and began to fumble through his pockets for his door key. Finding it in his leather vest, he jingled it in triumph and then began to unlock the door.

As the young man opened the door, there was a strong odor of pitch, coal, ashes, and a number of other scents. They all stepped inside and no one was more awed than Dodger; he had never stepped foot or boot inside a smithies shop in all his short life. He stared at all the iron tools, of all varieties, that were on display across the brick walls. He looked about at the ashes that covered the floor and at the walls that were stained with black and gray coal. He walked over to a huge coal oven that sat in the far corner of the room and imagined what it must look like when it was stuffed with the red glare and lick of flames. Paradoxically, for Fagin, the whole experience was like going back in time. He remembered those smells and those tools; he could almost hear the thud, thud, thud of the hammer banging against the anvil and see the sparks fly through the air like miniature fireworks. As a boy, he would often peek in on the blacksmiths and feel a sense of awe and fear. In a way, they were like magicians; molding and shaping liquid into solid steel objects using only their strength. He would watch them hit the metal with the hammer (as though it were a wand used to transform it) until sweat dripped down their arms from the exertion.

Fagin closed his eyes for an instant and felt the years melt away. He retraced London as it had been; a town that was half the size it was now and with countless numbers of smithies. In this present age, they were becoming less numerous because of the industrial advances. But then, they were plentiful. The old Jew opened his eyes and felt himself aged once more. He sighed and then walked over to a staircase that was set against the eastern wall. Terry was standing on the first step. He motioned to them with his hand and said, "Come . . . upstairs." He smiled and they followed him.

The upstairs was furnished with many different types of furniture. Nothing matched, but it looked quite cozy none-the-less. There were several rooms: a small den, a kitchenette, two bedrooms, and a tiny library. Terry showed them around and then plopped down onto a velvet couch. He smiled as Fagin and Dodger joined him. He stared at them for an instant and then changed his expression into a serious look. He coughed and then said, "I want to . . . to . . . explain." He fidgeted and shifted his legs and hands about in a nervous manner. "You see," he continued, "I . . . I hit . . . hammer . . . knock . . . my head . . . head . . . you see . . . I . . . speak . . . badly . . . didn't used to . . . eh, accident . . . trouble . . . words . . . escape . . . often . . . me." He stopped and waited for a response.

Dodge looked around the room and then focused his eyes on a painting. Fagin's eyes dropped down to look at his knees. After a moment, the Jew raised his face to look at the young man. He smiled and replied in a simple manner, "Thank you, my dear, for letting us stay."

Terry smiled and then got up off the couch. He went over to the kitchenette and opened a cabinet door. After moving around some objects within, he came back, carrying a wine bottle and three shot glasses. He pointed to the wine and offered Fagin one of the glasses.

Fagin's smile turned into a grin, "Thank you, my dear; I would love some!"

Terry filled Fagin's glass and then filled one for Dodge. After completing these actions, he began a small toast, "To . . . old friends . . . and . . . new . . . eh . . . acquaintances!"

"Amen!" answered both Dodge and Fagin.

"Tell me, Terry," said the old Jew after he had taken a few sips, "do you know of any work around here? I am almost out of cash, my dear."

"I could . . . use . . ,"

"My dear, you do not have to give me a job," Fagin interjected.

"I really . . . need . . . um . . . help . . . ah . . . with . . . my office."

Fagin furrowed his brows, "What sort of help, my dear?"

"I need a . . . um . . . copier . . . with good hand . . . handwriting."

Dodge looked over at Fagin and then replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "He's really good at writing things."

Terry got up, once more, off the couch and motioned for his two guests to follow him.

They went into his tiny office. It consisted of walls covered in books, a desk in the middle of the room, and several potted plants. There was barely enough room for the three of them to stand in the room all at one time. Fagin had almost collided with a prickly plant as he tried to move around the desk. Terry seemed perfectly unaware of the tight proximity of the room, but maneuvered around the desk with all the grace and skill of the finest dancer. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and extracted a pile of loose-leaf paper. He pointed to it and remarked, "My novel!"

Fagin bent over the papers and began to read.

The simple eloquence with which Terry wrote was extraordinary! The old Jew was completely stunned. The young man had the most abundant and creative vocabulary he had ever read! There was so much meaning, feeling, and description; it was all so life-like! Fagin turned to the next page and finished the paragraph. Once done, he looked up at Terry's beaming face. He grinned, "Just fabulous, my dear! Simply divine! And you want me to copy all this down? I will do it, my dear - gladly! It will take a while . . ."

Terry smiled and nodded, "A long . . . long . . . time." He laughed and then added, "I will pay . . . you . . . by the page . . . a crown . . . a page."

"That's dandy, my dear - just dandy!" Fagin wrung his hands and then sat down behind the desk. He moved a bottle of ink closer to himself and began to copy the first page.

Seeing that his guest was already busy at his task, Terry led Dodger back into the den.

"Why do you write?" Dodge was quite intrigued by the whole thing.

"Just . . . because . . . I like to."

"But you're a blacksmith," Dodge reminded him.

"It's a . . . hobby," Terry shrugged his shoulders and then continued, "I wrote . . . for the . . . paper . . . years ago. I . . . um . . . also did . . . some . . . writing . . . at Oxford."

Dodge's eyes widened and he asked, "How come you are able to write if you have trouble saying or coming up with words to say?"

Terry scratched his head and said, "I . . . don't know! I . . . guess . . . it comes . . . natural that . . . it flows . . . out . . . without . . . me thinking . . . too much. Here!" He handed the boy a pocket watch. "Now . . . time me . . . for one minute . . . I'll write . . . something . . . for you," he took up an envelope and a pen. Dodge waited for the second hand to reach the twelve before telling the young man to start.

"Start!"

Off went Terry Hudgins hand - like a runner running across a field was his hand leaving a trail of ink across the paper. By the time the minute was up, he had covered both sides of the envelope with writing. He handed it to Dodge, a smirk upon his face, "See . . . it's natural! I just think . . . an image . . . and there . . . it is . . .in . . . um . . . writing! Words . . . are . . . what screw . . . me up; I just . . . can't think . . . using . . . words!"

Dodge nodded and then asked, "What do you want me to do with this?"

Terry paused and then said, "Take that . . . in to the . . . copier. That . . . would . . . be . . . the . . . eh . . . newest page . . . of my . . . novel!"

**Sorry again for the wait! I just have been so busy with school stuff! BTW, Terry is suffering from Broca's Aphasia - a brain injury that causes you to have trouble figuring out what to say. I have been studying this recently and I find it fascinating! I hope everyone likes Terry Hudgins! - Elaine Dawkins**


	26. Bet's Visit

_**Bet's Visit**_

_Bet tries to find her friends._

Bet sat at the window and stared down into the streets below. She tapped her index finger on the whitewashed sill and placed her head in the cup of her other hand. Her eyes flickered as she scanned the scene and she had an uneasy look on her face. She had been waiting for an hour and yet no one had turned up. Bet was getting a little nervous and worried; perhaps Oliver had forgotten about her or perhaps (as she most feared) things had taken a terrible turn with Miss Doris.

As Bet was beginning to regret ever leaving the others' company and not going about on her own as she should have, there was a clicking sound and the bedroom door swung open.

Oliver was standing in the doorway along with Leanne. They were holding hands and both bore guilty expressions on their faces. Bet, not caring for the instant about such things (and having no clue that the two had exchanged a private kiss in the hallway), immediately called them in and shut the door. She leant with her back against it and asked, "Did you hear anything?"

"Yes, ma'am," Oliver tightened his grip on Leanne's hand and cleared his throat. "We saw them, and Leanne spoke with them, but we haven't a clue where they are. They were headed off somewhere and wouldn't say where to."

Bet signed and rubbed her eyes in a frustrated way. "Which way did they head for?"

"West," Oliver looked over at Leanne and she nodded in agreement.

"I guess I better go out and look myself," Bet wrapped herself in her shawl and made for the door. Turning around, she replied, "Thanks. Oh, and best stay here until Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris return." With that, she opened the door went out and closed it again, leaving Oliver and Leanne to laugh and enjoy each other's company once more.

Bet went down and up several streets. She retraced her steps several times, but found no sign of Dodger or of Fagin. Finally, in a fever of fright and urgency, she ran down the same streets once again. After almost tripping and falling off a small bridge that went across a small waterway, she collided with a street-lamp pole. She squatted on the ground and hugged it, tears streaming down her face. Bet tried to rub the wetness from her face, but there was no stopping the river that flooded over her eyelids and cascaded down her cheeks. She gasped for air and rocked back and forth, completely unaware that the situation made her look like a crazed lunatic. Bet was, in fact, so deep in an emotion of failure and impossibility that she did not pay attention when a street-door was opened and when an elderly man peered out.

Fagin found the sight to me quite alarming. To his eyes, here was a young lady, lost in the dark evening, and probably reeling from the effects of inebriation. The old Jew shook his head and then called out, "What's the matter, my dear?!"

Bet gulped, raised her head, turned around, saw Fagin framed by a door way with light sifting through behind him as though he were some illuminated heavenly being. She let go of the pole and scrambled up the steps, landing on all fours at the door step. Bet looked up, smiled, and then collapsed, unconscious, in a heap.

What seemed like only a few seconds later, Bet found herself draped across a velvet couch. Fagin was dabbing her forehead with some strong-smelling liquid and Dodge sat nearby watching the Jew's progress.

Bet blinked and Fagin drew back. He ventured, "My dear, drinking so much - it is only a little after dinner!"

Bet sat up and rubbed her head, "I wasn't drinking - I was running around trying to find you."

"You found us, my dear."

"I see that," she got up and, coming to Dodger, gave him a tight squeeze.

"I guess you won't be needing more assistance, my dear," Fagin looked over and watched as Bet began to fondle the boy's hair.

Bet smiled, but said nothing.

Fagin set down the towel and the bowl, the implements that had caused Bet to come to, and sat down. He asked the girl about her travels and many other things. Bet talked of her trip, but omitted the parts that included her colleagues. Tiring of listening to her own voice, she decided to pose the same question back at the old Jew.

"And what about you? I've been a bit worried . . ," She stopped and looked up.

Terry Hudgins had paused midway into the den and he appeared a bit embarrassed. Fagin, sensed that he must have believed himself to have interrupted a very private conversation; for his eyes glanced uneasily around the room as if looking for a way to exit without detection. Fagin waved at Terry as a signal that all was perfectly fine and then said, "Bet, this is Terry Hudgins. Terry, this is a friend of mine from London."

Bet smiled and stood up, "Nice to meet you."

Terry grinned, nodded to show that the feeling was mutual, and, taking Bet's hand, kissed it. After doing so, he addressed the room at large, "Goodnight!" And then left.

"Terry, my dear," whispered Fagin, "Has had a head injury that makes it hard for him to talk . . ."

"My, my . . . How terrible. That must be hard," Bet lowered her gaze as she said this and then slowly looked back up at the old Jew.

Fagin's mouth turned into a warm smile.

Bet, feeling the warmth it created, felt a calm peace flow over her. She looked the Jew in the eyes and said, "I sure have missed you."

"The same for me, my dear," he brushed her face with his hand.

"Are you coming back to London anytime soon?"

"My dear," Fagin wrung his hands in a distracted manner, "The authorities won't allow it."

("Miserable jerks,") Bet mumbled.

Fagin laughed and gripped the girl's shoulders, "Correct as usual, my dear!"

"Yes, but what is to be done?"

The old Jew pondered and then answered, "We must live with what freedom we are given - I guess."

"No hope then?"

Fagin shook his head and then glanced over at Dodge. The boy had fallen asleep some time ago.

"He should be in bed," Bet went over to the boy and touched him.

Dodge opened his eyes and then closed them again. He was too tired to show much life or to move off the couch.

Bet whispered his name, and he opened his eyes once more. Knowing full well that he would not be left alone until he at least said something, he responded in a dreamy voice, "I was asleep."

"Wouldn't you rather be asleep in a bed?" asked Bet.

Dodge said 'no' and turned over so as to face the window.

Bet shrugged at Fagin and went over towards the fireplace. After staring at the dying embers for a few minutes, she turned and spoke quietly, "I asked you how things were and you did not get the chance to answer."

Fagin nodded and came over to prod the last flames into more activity, "There is nothing much to say, my dear. We stayed at an elderly woman's house for about a week. She was one of the most annoying people I've ever had the curse to meet. She even had some sort of infatuation for me - which was completely one-sided!"

"Did she really?" Bet placed her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles that wanted to escape so badly.

The old Jew looked up, a sullen expression darkening his face. Bet stopped immediately and commented, "Well, you're in good shape for your age."

"All a curse on me, my dear! I would rather be in poor shape than have her affections. The only good thing about her was the fact that she could cook extraordinarily well."

"Why did you leave her?"

"She died."

Bet's eyes widened and glowed in the light of the fire.

Fagin straightened up and placed the fire poker on the mantle, "Nothing much, my dear. Probably a heart attack. She died while weeding the garden. The only regret that I feel is the fact that we received nothing of her money. The will completely overlooked us!"

"So you left then?"

"Yes, my dear. There was nothing else for it."

"And how long will you stay here?"

"Until I am finished helping Terry. He has a novel and he wanted me to copy it in neat handwriting. A crown a page and I have already done eight today!" I will save it up and buy a small house. Not to mention (now that it comes to my mind) I will have to get a certain percentage, my dear, if it is published - which I certainly think it will be. I am finally on a path that will lead to something; I have a purpose!"

"Glad to hear it. I was just thinking . . . maybe I could stay - you did ask me if I wanted to come with you - I think I do."

Fagin grinned and answered, "Welcome aboard, my dear! We are pleased to have you!"

"I can sell my flat in London and buy a place here. You could stay with me if you wanted!"

"Not too fast, my dear," Fagin winked at her, "I am not leaving this house for a while yet!"

Bet smiled and said, "Well the offer still stands. I had better be off - I am staying at a hotel nearby . . ."

"Why not stay here for the night, my dear? It's dark out and getting late; it's dangerous for an attractive, young woman such as yourself."

"You think so?"

"Sure of it!" Fagin laughed, but as he turned to look at Bet, he saw that she had a very serious expression on her face. She meant it. She was honestly curious about the amount of gravity with which he stated his assurance. The old Jew felt his mouth become a bit parched and his grin faded. He turned away and said, "Bet, my dear, you know that I have always loved you. No use in my denying it and no use in your not believing me. I've always cared for your and Nancy's needs."

Bet silently nodded.

"And of course I wish for you all the happiness in the world. You should not leave London just for me or the Dodger. I have learned a very hard lesson, my dear, and many people never have the chance of gaining this bit of knowledge. The fact is that time is short and you must use it to your advantage - I have found, through careful and not-so-careful situations that in order to be perfectly happy, you must see to it that those around you are taken care of."

"I know. It's just the same old idea; if we work for you and keep you happy, you will do us the same in return."

"No, my dear," Fagin turned and looked at Bet. He placed his hand on her shoulder, "This is more important; I will do nice things for you, you need not repay it."

Bet felt something in her throat. She tried to swallow, but couldn't. A tear streamed down her face and, knowing full well what she did, she put her arms around the old Jew and placed her head upon his chest. Fagin wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Nothing needed to be said at this point; both knew the other's thoughts and feelings. In short, they stayed this way for several minutes, until Bet had cried herself silly and Fagin was on the verge of loosing his manly demeanor.

Bet eventually pulled herself away. She wiped her eyes on her shawl, straightened herself as best as she could, and headed for the door. "I'll be back tomorrow," she whispered, "Goodnight and I love you!" She went out into the cool night, leaving Fagin alone with the Dodger.

Fagin paused in deep contemplation about the whole affair. He sunk down into a chair and placed his head in both his hands. He looked over at the form of the sleeping boy and remembered something from earlier that day. He had been quite harsh towards Leanne. He now wondered why he had not been honest with her. He wanted to punish himself in some way for his behavior. So what if she knew Oliver? It did not give him the right to do what he did to her.

"Fagin?"

The Jew looked back over at Dodge and realized with a start that he was now sitting up.

"My dear! I thought you were asleep!"

Dodge shook his head, a grin on his face. Fagin grabbed a small pillow and threw it at the boy's head. Dodge laughed and grabbed it before it fell to the floor.

"You heard it all, my dear, did you?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Well, you can forget about it for your own good. Besides, I have a job for you tomorrow. I want you to find Leanne and apologize for me or at least get her to come around - as they say."

"Sure, I've got nothing better to do."

"Goodnight! I am going to bed," Fagin got up and stretched.

Dodge got up to follow, but Fagin prevented him from doing so by thrusting him back down onto the couch.

"Hey!"

"My dear, you told Bet you wanted to stay on the couch. The bedroom and bed is mine. Pleasant dreams!" He strode away from the room at a fast pace and the sound of a door closing could be heard.

**Another chapter done! I want to thank my old reviewers and my new reviewers for their support - thanks! - Elaine Dawkins**


	27. Dark and Silence

_**Dark and Silence**_

_Bill continues to question his actions and his role in Leanne's upbringing._

Bill continued the slow, laborious process of fixing the tears in his coat. He periodically looked up at a clock that was hung upon the opposite wall. Finding each instance that time seemed to move with all the fervor of a turtle, he would shake his head and refocus on his work. He continued to contemplate about Linda and how she had chased him all the way to Edinburgh. The only answer to the riddle that he could find was that Leanne had not been completely honest with him. How could that be? She appeared and had even given him the impression that she was fine, happy, and content to stay and travel along with him.

Bill found that his temper began to flare at this thought and he began to feel cross with everything and everyone. He glared down at his coat as though it was the object of his anger. He began to poke the needle into the fabric with more and more intention as though he would pierce it with a thousand holes and murder it. Bill's pace quickened and he felt a small sense of joy from the thought of hurting his coat. In fact, by the time Leanne came into the room, he was grinning devilishly down at his clothing and poking through it with no mercy.

Leanne sat down beside him - which made him jump in surprise and alarm.

"Don't yer do that!" he cried. "Yer don't sneak up on people, yer little turncoat!"

The girl shrunk back against the bedpost, eyes wide, with a look of abject horror.

Bill panted from his sudden exertion. He rubbed his hand over his face and then tried to keep his voice to a steady tone. "Le'nne."

"Yes?" she replied in a small voice.

"Yer mother was here - did yer contact her?"

Leanne shook her head. It was not a lie. It was the truth; in reality, it was Oliver who had contacted her mother - not she.

Bill's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Yer didn't? Yer sure?"

Leanne nodded. Bill felt a bit regretful about his behavior as he looked at the poor girl - the same one he had once boasted as being 'pure.' Now, he was treating her like a criminal. It had been the same with Nancy - Bill had been too harsh with her and had since been haunted by his actions. Dreading another terrible failure, he mumbled an apology for being so abrupt. Bill stood there and chewed his tongue as he thought. After a moment, he looked down at Leanne and said, "Yer mother was here a while ago."

"Yes?"

"An' she wants ter take yer back with her."

Leanne scratched her head and said, "I know."

Bill coughed to clear his throat. "I suppose yer want ter go?"

"I don't know . . ," she hung her head and looked out the window. She began to finger her skirt folds with her hands in a distracted manner. She added, "I don't know . . . I don't know why you don't get along . . ."

"Well, yer like me then do yer?"

"Of course!"

"Maybe," Bill began to pace as he spoke, "We can agree on somethin'."

"Like what?" the girl began to study Bill with her eyes as he walked to and fro across the room.

"Well, like - yer know - somethin' like a time-share. Say, she gets yer during the school year an' I get yer during the summer."

Leanne nodded and then added, "I wish you both got along . . ."

Bill turned away and looked at the cracks in the plaster that covered the wall. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and said, "Why don't yer go outside an' play with Dodge for a bit?"

"I don't know where he is. He and Fagin went off somewhere, but they wouldn't say where to."

"Oh really?" Bill had a sudden notion that such action by the crafty Jew could have something to do with telling the police. He felt his temper rise at the thought along with a feeling of urgency. He imaged that Fagin was down at the local police station at that instant, giving Bill's appearance, history, and other information to the officers. Bill flexed his fingers as though preparing to strangle something to death. "Yer sure yer don't know where?!" he asked sharply.

"Yes," the girl answered and hugged the bed post in a timid manner.

"Yer stay here; I'm goin' out!" Bill left and slammed the door behind himself.

Bill left the public house and saw that the sky was turning a peach-orange as the sun continued to climb back down out of the heavens. The air was becoming cool and the shadows were lengthening. Bill stopped to recollect for a moment and remember the journey that he and Leanne had taken. He wondered why he had not spent more time enjoying it, instead of being so focused on getting somewhere. The traveling was not bad and he had become fairly close to the only living relative he had. Now, he was more than likely about to loose her. Bill became cross at himself now; he should have moved on and not just settled - or, perhaps, he should have taken his daughter to some farther area such as Australia or Ireland. Bill wondered why he had even left the public house. Where was he going? He could not just run down to the police station and throttle Fagin - what good would that do? He could just turn around, go back inside, grab Leanne, and run off for good.

Bill felt a bit shaky at this point, but this made the decision all the more simple. He was a dead duck anyway - that is as long as he stayed here. Now, there was a feeling of confidence; he had made up his mind and now had only to act on it. It reminded him of all the times he had broken into houses - he had always felt more and more confident as he became more involved in the job. Besides, sneaking out of the country would come naturally, if not because it seemed simple, then because he was a master at moving unseen and undetected.

The only problem, and the one that most bothered Bill, was the fact that Leanne would not leave so easily. She would want to stay with her mother. Bill wondered what he could do about this. Finding that his brain could come up with no answers to this question, he decided that (because his life was now on the line) it was worth the regret to leave her behind.

He went back inside and up the stairs to the room that he had rented for the time being. He opened the door and found that Leanne was asleep and sprawled across the bed coverlet. Bill drew back from the door and closed it again. He went down into the bar and gave the barman some extra money with which to feed his daughter until Miss Doris returned the next day.

After doing so, he went back out into the darkening night air and crept into the shadows cast by the many buildings of Edinburgh.

The night was deepening and fog was rolling in when Bill came to the docks. He wrapped his coat tightly about himself and buttoned it. Pulling the collar up to cover most of his face and all of his neck, he walked across the muggy, lamp-lit boardwalk. It was a bit slippery and it creaked as he stepped across it. The fog became denser and swirled about as the wind picket up speed. Just as cool wind chills water, so it chilled Bill's heart. He became more and more like his old self as he stood on the wooden deck. He thought less and less of everything else but his immediate escape.

The ships were moored along the docks, connected by ropes and planks of wood. Bill stepped lightly so as to avoid noise and crept toward one of the planks. Before walking across onto the boat's deck, he went over to one of the lit lamps. After opening a latch in the side of it, he snuffed out the flame within. Now in deeper darkness, he crossed over and stepped aboard the ship. There was no one about - which Bill noted with caution and with a sense that something was not quite well about it. There was little on the deck but a few wooden crates, some piles of rope, and a variety of sacks full of sand - used to help weigh down the boat at need.

Bill searched about and then came across an idea. Over the edges of both sides of the ship, there were four life-boats. They were covered by burlap to keep out the rain and Bill knew that they would be the best place to hide. Thinking this notion through, he remembered that he would need something to eat. He went quietly over to one of the afore-mentioned crates. He lifted one of the lids and found a plethora of dried and cured ham. Bill stuffed his pockets with the meat until they could hold no more. Next, he leant over the side of the ship and pulled off the burlap covering on one of the life-boats. He lowered himself down into it, taking care not to fall into the black water below. Bill covered himself with the burlap and, after finding a comfortable position, waited for morning. He soon fell asleep; and that in such an easy manner thanks to the dark and silence.

**I am sorry about the delay between chapters! Thanks for reading this. Please leave a review! I need all the encouragement I can get! - Elaine Dawkins**


	28. What Now?

**What Now?**

_Everyone must decide on a plan of action._

Morning dawned bright and early. Bet awoke to the sound of someone knocking at her room door. She sat up in bed and beckoned the visitor to enter. Miss Doris came in along with Leanne. Leanne appeared to have been crying for tears had stained her cheeks and her face was red. Bet immediately got out of bed and wrapped herself up in a dressing gown. She hastily asked Miss Doris what the matter was.

"It's Bill . . . He left Leanne alone all night and hasn't shown a bit of himself," she set her daughter on her lap and began to caress her hair in a soothing manner.

"Really?!" Bet was slightly shocked, but knew that such actions were not new to Bill. "Have you told Mr. Brownlow?"

"Yes, and he wonders whether or not to contact the police now. You know we were going to wait on that."

"I know," Bet busied herself with making some tea. "I think you should tell them. Although," she paused, "He is a slight threat to Fagin and Dodge. He could tell on them, but I swear that Fagin has changed. I told you about what he said."

Linda nodded, "I believe you. But I don't know what to do. Leanne has gotten quite attached - and why shouldn't she? The man is her father."

"I agree. Here. Do you want any sugar in that?" Bet handed Linda a small cup and saucer.

"Yes, please. My, I dearly hope he has not done anything rash. Do you have a handkerchief or something that I can use to wipe Leanne's eyes with?"

"Yes, let me look in my purse," she fished through her purse and, finding what she was searching for, handed it to Miss Doris.

"I was polite to him last night - I guess," Linda went on. She sighed, "I fear I may have said something."

"No you didn't," Leanne spoke up for the first time.

Linda looked down at her daughter and gave a small smile, "What are you talking of, Sweetie?"

"I told him that Fagin and Dodger had moved and then he got angry and left," the girl sniffed. "It's my fault!"

"Leanne, don't cry, sweet-pea! It had nothing to do with you!"

"That's right!" Bet added, "Bill doesn't like Fagin - I am sure you know that."

Leanne nodded, unable to continue.

"I think we should get Mr. Brownlow and Oliver. Then, we should go consult Fagin," Bet began to look through her bags for some clothing.

"You're probably right. It will be strange though; I haven't seen Fagin since I left Bill - and that only once!" Miss Doris stood up. "We'll wait for you down in the lobby.

"I'll only be a few minutes!" called Bet as Linda guided her daughter out of the room.

Down in the lobby, they gathered once more. After a few quick words with Mr. Brownlow, they all headed out. Leanne was left behind in the care of Oliver (which was in no way dissatisfactory for her) and the adults headed out into the streets to hail a carriage. Within ten minutes, they were dropped off in front of Terry's smithies shop. Terry was inside at work and you could hear the sounds of his hammer hitting an anvil with a mighty amount of force. Mr. Brownlow tapped at the glass door, after first squinting in through the ashes that covered the panes in order to make sure of the place.

Terry paused in his work and heard the tapping. He set down his hammer, pulled off his heavy gloves, and opened the door.

"We would like to see Mr. Fagin," Mr. Brownlow said.

Terry nodded in understanding and pointed up the stairwell.

"Thank you!" Mr. Brownlow led the way up the stairs. Bet and Linda followed behind him. They came to a small landing and a door.

"Should we just walk in?" asked Miss Doris. "I don't like to just walk in on people."

"It should be just fine!" Bet assured the other two. A grin spread across her face, "They're friends of mine and I know they won't mind at all." She turned the knob and went right in.

The den was well-lit even so early in the morning. A fire was glowing in the hearth, several lamps were lit, and the curtains were drawn back. Dodge was sitting on the couch and had both of his booted feet upon the coffee table. He seemed to be in deep thought because his eyes were glazed over, his left hand rubbed at his chin, and his face bore all the signs of deep concentration.

"Dodge!" Bet called his name as she stepped into the room.

"Bet! Hi! What are . . . You want to see Fagin?" he stared at Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris in curiosity.

"This is Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris," Bet said.

Dodge nodded and then repeated, "Do ya want to see Fagin? He's in the office - over there." He pointed to a door on the right, "He's working, but . . ."

"We need to speak to him immediately," Linda blurted out.

Dodge nodded again.

"Come on," Bet went over to the door and knocked.

There was the sound of several papers crinkling and a quill being placed in a glass ink bottle. Something shifted within and then there was a voice, "Come in, my dear!"

Bet opened the door and was met with several large stacks of paper. Fagin stood and replied, "Hello, my dear!" He looked at Bet with a smile, which then faded slowly from his face as his eyes turned to see Mr. Brownlow. And then, he changed again to a look of unbelief as he turned to face Linda Doris. He rubbed his eyes and then said, "More guests, my dear - surely not?"

"No, Fagin, We need to discuss something. It's urgent."

"Yes?"

"You know that Bill is here right?"

"Certainly! Bill is hard not to notice, my dear!" Fagin cringed a bit and began to move the papers about.

"Well, he had Linda's daughter with him - or did. He left Leanne in the public house last night and hasn't shown up since!"

Fagin paused and looked up at Bet. "Left, my dear? Well, well . . ," he began to mumble to himself. Bet caught just enough of his babbling to infer that he was cursing. After a moment, he went quiet and leant back in his chair.

"Mr. Fagin?" urged Linda in a small voice, "Do you know where he might have gone?"

Fagin shook his head; not in a way that showed he knew not where Bill was, but in a way that meant he was not yet collected enough to respond. He turned to face the window that was directly behind him. He said, "If he has gone, my dears, there is no tracing his steps. He has gotten too much time!"

"You mean we are too late - and it's no use?" Linda sounded as if she was about to be in tears by this point.

Fagin turned back around and tried to smile, "You're better off without him, my dear! Far better off! You might as well go home. I cannot help you."

"Fagin!" Bet was in no way pleased by this response, "We need to find Bill; Leanne loves him and if you love Leanne (which is obvious!) I should expect that you would take her views into account before you go sliding this whole mess clean off your plate!" She stopped, a look of determination on her face.

The old Jew rubbed his eyes and (placing his chin in the cup of his hand) eyed Bet. Slowly lowering his gaze, he sighed, "My dear, it is not that simple. I . . ." He paused to think, "I . . . You aren't going to go to the police are you?" Fagin's eyes widened and he looked meekly back up at the three visitors as if pleading with them to leave him be.

"Of course not," Bet said, "We just hoped that you might have some idea about where he might go; you know, someplace Bill-ish!"

Fagin made a face as that last word hit him and he seemed to come to life, "My dears, there are certain places that Bill will go. First," he held up his index finger, "There is the pub - but that was where he was and he left that. Second, there is the pub, third . . ."

"Fagin!" Bet was becoming aggravated, "Think!"

"My dear! Other than that, Bill would go to a rich district to rob, but that seems to be a silly thing for him to do about now, knowing the circumstances. He has probably left the area. Gotten a carriage, my dears or perhaps gone on another boat. You can ask around, but that is all I can say. I have not spoken to him for a while now."

"I guess there is nothing else to do," Mr. Brownlow replied. He took up his hat and added, "Thank you, Mr. Fagin!"

"No trouble, my dear!" the old Jew replied and dipped his quill into the ink well in preparation for more writing. "Oh and Bet, my dear, could I have a word with you?"

"Go on, I'll be outside in a moment," she told Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris. They left the room and Bet turned to face Fagin.

The Jew grinned nervously. "Bet, my dear, you do love Dodge don't you?"

"Yes."

"There is one thing, my dear, . . . I do not mean to alarm you . . ."

Bet's expression became sullen and she glanced questioningly at Fagin's grey-green eyes.

"My dear, I have come to a conclusion. I wish it were something pleasant, but here it is; I have found a way that I might use to get back to London."

"How?"

"Marriage, my dear."

Bet caught a laugh before it escaped her mouth and the Jew noticed, "It is not funny! My dear, I am serious!"

"Sorry," Bet smiled, "Who's the lucky lady?"

Fagin shook his head and responded, "You, my dear!"

"Me?!"

"If we were to bind ourselves together, I under your legal protection could easily pass back over the border," he gazed at Bet with great intensity.

Bet's mouth had dropped and she was in a state of immense controversy within. She did love Fagin, but not as a romantic partner; as a close friend and confidant. She did see his point though, and it did seem to be the only choice. "And what of romance?" she asked finally.

Fagin raised his eyebrows and responded, "Haven't I loved you, my dear?"

"Yes . . . but."

"But what, my dear? Bet, you are being silly - romance is nothing; just childish crushes, my dear - not a lasting factor. Companionship, tender-understanding, and support when in need; that is real love. I have always loved you - cared for you, kept you happy and safe."

Bet nodded and Fagin took her hand and kissed it. She smiled at him and replied, "You're right. I will marry you and then we can go back to London."

**I bet that chapter was surprising! Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!! - Elaine Dawkins**


	29. Plans and Happiness

**Plans & Happiness**

_Fagin and Bet plan their wedding._

Bet turned to leave. She smiled at Fagin and then left the room. Dodge looked up at her as she shut the door behind herself and walked toward him. She cleared her throat and then asked, "Did the others go downstairs?"

Dodge nodded and sat up, pulling his feet back off the coffee table. He waited for Bet to leave, but she didn't. She sat down in one of the chairs and began to talk.

"Do you know what Fagin told me?"

"What?" Dodge eyed her with some suspicion.

"He told me that he had come up with a way for the two of you to go back to London."

"Really?!" Dodge almost jumped off the couch in amazement.

"Yes," Bet lowered her voice so as to infer to the boy to lower his, also.

"How?"

"He found out - I guess from reading up on the subject - that criminals can be spared, somewhat, from their punishment by marrying someone that hasn't committed anything. He just asked me to marry him. I said yes . . ," Bet paused and sighed. "What do you think of all this?"

Dodge considered for a moment and then replied, "That's great, Bet. I sure will be glad to be back at home."

"You're not upset?"

"Why would I be upset?" Dodge grinned. "I don't care. You like Fagin - That's fine. You like me, I know . . . why worry. Say, do you think it will be possible to go back to living in Saffron Hill? Maybe even in the same building?"

Bet bit her lip, "I don't know . . . who would want that place anyway?" She began to laugh and Dodge joined in on the merriment.

Several more jokes were made afterward about how unlivable the old place really was, when suddenly Fagin walked into the room.

By this time, Dodge was rolling on the couch and Bet was hugging her gut and leaning forward in her chair.

The old Jew looked from one to the other and then addressed the room at large, "What is all so funny, my dears?"

Bet shook her head, a smile on her face, and then replied, "Nothing. I do need to be heading on. . ."

"My dear, you couldn't stay for lunch, could you?"

Bet was unsure about staying until Fagin mentioned the fact that they needed to make plans for the wedding - only then did she agree to stay. She ran downstairs and found Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris having a conversation with Terry Hudgins. Bet informed them that she wanted to remain where she was for the time being. Miss Doris was a bit anxious about this since it meant that it would only be her and Mr. Brownlow looking for Bill, but she politely said that it did not bother her. Bet felt elated at these words and made her best attempt to show her gratitude. She promised to meet them within two hours. Mr. Brownlow said that that would be fine and that they would see her back at the hotel. Bet smiled and then turned to head back to the den.

As Bet raced back up the stairs she felt a jolt of glee. It was as though she had gone back to being a little girl again. The day seemed sunnier, full of life, and almost like a dream. Her heart pounded in her chest and she could practically feel her spirit rise as though it had wings. It was flighty, breathtaking, and full off all the happiness she had ever had the privilege to feel. So this is what love feels like, thought Bet. It is glorious, beautiful, and like nothing I've ever had! I wish I could feel this way forever!

She opened the door and walked back into the den. And there he was: her future husband - cooking something in the small kitchenette. Bet sat down at the small eating table and watched as the Jew turned over some bits of meat in a large sauce pan. Bet's mind began to wonder as she listened to him humming some tune. She began to picture them all back in London. It was going to be such a happy situation. Fagin would do the cooking, she would do the laundry and sewing, and Dodge would be nearby, playing cards and doing other things.

Now, Bet began to think solely of Fagin. He did not seem so old to her now. He was sixty-one and she was twenty-six. That was only thirty-five years difference. Bet had known some couples who had been two decades apart so three and a half did not seem to matter much.

Next, Bet began to go back in her remembrance to the time when she had first met Fagin. She had been fourteen at the time and he had been forty-nine. It had been Nancy who had introduced her to the Jew. It seemed like only yesterday.

Bet was abruptly brought back to the present by the sound of Fagin banging a spoon on the side of the sauce pan. She jumped and the old Jew apologized for the interruption.

"Sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to frighten you. I had to get the sauce off the spoon."

"I was daydreaming . . . sorry!"

"It is perfectly fine, my dear!" Fagin began to dish out the portions of meat. "What sort of wedding would you like, my dear?" he asked after joining her and Dodge at the table.

"I don't know . . . nothing too fancy . . . just something simple," she skewered a piece of meat onto her fork and placed it in her mouth.

"I hoped you would say so, my dear. I was thinking of just going down to the local law-offices (don't worry; I am just as shocked as you are that I am saying so) and we can have a quick little wedding without much fuss or intrusion."

"So you don't want a traditional Jewish wedding?" Bet smiled.

"Not in the least! Too much fuss and besides, I have no relatives to invite anyway," he looked over at Dodge, who, by this time, was trying not to laugh.

"And you," added Fagin, staring at the boy, "You can be the flower girl, my dear!"

Dodge stopped mid-giggle and said, "No way!"

Bet smiled and commented, "Didn't you always want to wear a dress with bows and frills?"

Dodge said that that had never been his wish and then he excused himself from the table so that he could eat by himself in the study.

"Strange boy," Fagin stated with a serious expression on his face, "I don't know why he wouldn't want to." He gave Bet a wink and went back to eating.

"When do you want to do this?" asked Bet, once she had stopped laughing.

"I promised Terry that I would finish his novel and I plan to actually keep that promise, my dear."

Bet was a bit shocked and said so.

"I am trying to do better, my dear. Anyway, we could still get married at any point and then, once I am done copying all those pages, we can go."

"So now or later?"

Fagin paused in thought and then answered, "I don't have much money, my dear. I wish I did, but I don't. I believe you should be able to have a nice dress for the occasion and a few arrangements of flowers. Also, enough money to buy a place in London. That will take me a while, my dear."

"So later?"

The Jew smiled, "Yes, my dear. Possibly in six months; that is, as long as you don't mind waiting."

"I don't mind too much," Bet felt a bit disappointed at such a (seemingly) long time frame, but she did not want to mess up Fagin's plans. "I guess that will give us more time to get reacquainted," said Bet.

"There you are, my dear!" Fagin seemed very pleased at her optimism. He paused for an instant and then said with a bit of guilt, "I haven't even gotten you a ring, my dear."

"That's fine. You can get me one at your leisure. This tastes really wonderful . . . I don't care much for hotel or boat food; It's just not the same as something home-cooked."

The old Jew nodded in agreement, "Especially boat food, my dear. I would starve before I ate shellfish!"

"You're not supposed to anyway - you're Jewish!" Bet grinned.

"That was always one of the things I liked about being Jewish," Fagin's face lit up with pleasure. "You don't have to eat a lot of strange and disgusting things!"

"On that note," put in Bet, "It doesn't matter that I'm not Jewish?"

Fagin shook his head and said that it did not matter at all. "Besides," he added, "Dodge is my grandson and he's not Jewish!"

"I still can't believe you got by with that lie."

"It's an art, my dear - just like many other things," he took up Bet's plate and went over to deposit it on top of one of the counters.

"Do you think we should go check on Dodge?" Bet looked over towards the closed door that led into the study.

"Leave him, my dear. Dodge will come out when he's ready. How much longer can you stay?"

"I've got an hour and fifteen minutes."

Fagin smiled, "That's plenty of time that we can use to get reacquainted, my dear." He smiled and led Bet away from the table and back into the den.

**It has been a long time since I last updated. I'm sorry! Please leave a review! Thanks again to all my loyal readers and reviewers! - Elaine Dawkins**


	30. The Carriage Driver

_**The Carriage Driver**_

_Bill continues to confront his past actions. _

Bill stayed under the canvas for about an hour. It was then, within the wanderings that his brain made, that he realized a serious flaw in his plan; he had no privy. Bill grumbled at this. It was a huge flaw and it could not be ignored. He pulled off the covering, sat up, and looked about, hoping to find some cure for his problem. Seeing nothing, but the rest of the boat, the thick fog, and the darkness, he scrambled out of the life-raft and went back ashore.

Bill began to consider and he could find no sensible way that a person could hide on a ship - at least not in the way he had intended to do so. It really made no sense. In fact, he had to consider other alternative routes. The only thing that came to Bill's mind was the fact that he must get a carriage ride out of the area. From there, he could, as long as he was willing, walk the rest of the way. No part of Bill's plan had involved even the thought of going back to London. Although he did miss the city and he did still have some friends who would be willing to take him in, he was unwilling to go back. He would find another town that was not too far, but that would still give him some protection from the authorities.

The night air stirred and the trees bent in the breeze. The air smelt salty to Bill's nostrils as he heaved a heavy sigh. He turned and left the dock. As he went along, a sudden thought occurred to him. The public house, in which he and Leanne had been staying, had a good supply of carriages and horses in a courtyard in the back. Perhaps, he could do as he had done before. It would be easy and harmless; besides, if the slippery, old Jew had turned him in, it was no use avoiding the fact any longer. He was a criminal and would stay that way.

He traveled silently down the road. The lateness of the evening meant that most of the populous was indoors. The only individuals who were to be seen were the poor, the drunkards, and the prostitutes. This did not bother Bill - in fact, it suited him fine. That was the way things had always been back in London.

As he turned a corner, a woman, who was sitting on a doorstep under a flickering street-lamp, called out to him, but he did not make any sign to her or even give her the impression that her words had even entered his ears. He walked on, neither looking to the left or the right, his mind bent on what was ahead. The woman turned and departed down a dark alleyway, but Bill did not notice.

Without warning, rain burst forth from the dark clouds overhead. It came down in torrents, splashing the cobblestones and running in little streams along the street corners. Water glanced off windows and many of the inhabitants appeared, framed in the openings like photographs, to close the shutters before their homes were intruded by the wetness. This caused Bill to duck into one of the shop doorways where he would not be seen. After the shutters had been closed and locked on most of the buildings, he crept back out into the street.

Bill was not bothered by the rain because he still had his coat wrapped tight about himself. So much so that only his eyes were clearly visible. He splashed through the puddles, thankful that the noise of the downpour covered the sound of his heavy boots.

After a time, he came to the public house. He looked up at the upper story windows and felt a slight ache in his chest as he imagined his daughter asleep in one of those rooms and without the slightest idea that something was up. Trying to ignore this feeling, he went around to the back of the building and found the courtyard. Just as he had expected, there were several horses with carriages to boot. Bill approached one of the horses and stoked it's nose. The horse sniffed in the cool air and shook off some of the water that was dripping down it's sides. Bill waited and then seized the bridle. He turned the horse and carriage about and then led it over to the side of the building. He then let go of the horse and went up to sit on the bench that was usually occupied by the driver. On the way, Bill had snatched up the whip in his right hand. Now, he grabbed the reigns and slapped the horse across the hind-quarters. The horse snorted and began to walk off. Bill repeated the afore-mentioned action once again and this time the horse sped up.

They went out into the street and Bill made the horse go to the left by way of slapping it with the left-side of the reigns. Bill made the horse increase it's speed even further once they had left the main part of town. In essence, he was traveling at a fast rate and soon he had left Edinburgh behind himself.

The rain began to lighten up soon after he had hit countryside. All was pitch dark now and he was forced to slow down his pace to a quick trot. Bill kept looking around the horizon for any sign of other cities or towns. There were a few farm houses that dotted the landscape, but nothing of any great size.

Within four hours, Bill had tired of driving. He pulled over to the side of the road and reigned in the horse. After which, he crawled inside the carriage itself and went to sleep.

Morning dawned with a sickly yellow light. The clouds were still covering the sky and rain was still coming down; only not as furiously as it had during the night. Bill awoke with a start and peered out of the carriage. He was amazed to find that he was surrounded completely by English Heather. It stretched out for miles in dots of soft pink, white, and periwinkle. The wind came through periodically and swept down the flowers in long ribbons of movement as millions of stems bent against the gales. Edinburgh was no where to be seen, nor were there any houses. It was simply nature and Bill realized that he had been missing the feeling of being all alone in the world.

Bill climbed down from the carriage and pulled out a piece of dried, cured ham and began to devour it. He had stuffed his pockets with the stuff so he was less bothered about being sparing with his portions. He ate a liberal amount and then decided to continue on his way. Normally, Bill would have diverged from the main road, but this time, remembering past failures, he decided to stay following the track. Besides, it had to lead somewhere.

The sun rose up behind the clouds and everything became a little brighter. The rain continued to come down, but, by now, it had greatly decreased in amount. The heather still stretched on endlessly, only dotted here and there by some small lakes and bogs. The track had turned a bit and Bill was now headed towards the west.

As he traveled, Bill's mind continued to wonder over all the situations he had been involved in over the past month. He had kidnapped his daughter, stole a carriage, shot a duck, got on a boat, met up with Fagin and Dodge, been chased down by his ex-girlfriend, left his daughter, and was now headed for who-knows-what. Normally, Bill would have thought the whole thing to be a waste, but something inside stopped him from totally thinking so. It had been quite an interesting month and besides, he had unearthed some hidden fondness for nature. Not just the landscape: the hills, groves, flowers, meadows, and lakes, but also (he finally admitted) he had a fondness for some human nature. Not anything natural pertaining to the old Jew, but mostly to children; his daughter to be precise. Bill shook his head; he had become a softy. Stupid emotions! He mumbled, Yer know that that's not good! Yer a criminal - yer murdered Nancy an' yer probably murdered Bullseye!

Now this last sentence brought back to mind his old companion. That dog that had followed him for years and who had been his closest partner and the only person he could ever truly trust. He wondered what had become of it. If it had died or whether it had been taken in by someone. Bill hoped that it had not traveled back to London; that could lead the authorities to some sort of conclusion. Could he have actually killed his dog in the first place? He had fed it a greenish colored potato, the dog had appeared to be slightly ill, and then he had forced alcohol down the animal's throat. Bill furrowed his brows; perhaps the wine had cured it, perhaps someone had taken the dog in and nursed it back to health. Then what?

Curiosity, which had been hidden over the past weeks, awoke within Bill. Was is worth it to go find out? Maybe. Anyway, he needed to find the dog if it had headed back for London.

Bill looked ahead and noticed that he was coming upon a small town. He had been right about the track leading somewhere and now he could get some much needed assistance. He could find out how long it would take to get back to Ferndale and he could gather even more supplies.

A sign on the side of the road said, 'Welcome to Motherwell.' Bill had never heard of that city before. He knew immediately that he must find a map and figure out where he was. 'Motherwell' meant as much to him as calculus.

He came to a general store and went inside. Bill spoke to a young lady, who was weighing bags of wheat, and asked her if she had a map he could look at. She nodded and produced one from the back room. Bill spread the map out on a table and began to study it. He had traveled about fifty miles south-west of Edinburgh and he needed to go three-hundred and seventy-five miles before he could even come close to Ferndale or London. Bill swore and began to fold up the map. It would take him forever to travel that far!

The young lady cleared her throat and then said, "You can keep it if you need it. No charge."

Bill nodded and said, "Thanks." He then departed from the store and went back out to his carriage.

Now, as Bill had been inside, a crowd had gathered. He found his carriage blocked by about twenty men, women, and children. They all had luggage and were peering inside the vehicle. Bill came over, wondering what was up, and several individuals began to ask him if he was headed for Hawick and several other places.

"How much do you charge?" asked a woman with two young boys.

Bill pondered for an instant and then said, "Five shillin's for the whole ride."

"How many can you carry?" asked a short man with a green waistcoat.

"As many as will fit in," said Bill. He was not going to loose his chance to bag a good amount of money.

"When are you leaving?" inquired the woman with the two boys.

"Ah . . . in ten minutes," Bill looked on as the people began to pile inside. He looked at the carriage and noticed that there was a sign on the side that said, 'Edinburgh Cabby.' So that was why everyone wanted a ride.

Bill paused for an instant and then began to help the other men pile the luggage on top. He began to try and figure out how much money he would have. There were actually twenty-three people and each person cost the five shillings, so that would make him one-hundred and fifteen shillings richer! That would come out to one pound and three crowns. He could get room and board for that amount and then travel on with a whole new carriage-load of people the next day. In fact, he noted, he could raise the price as he got closer to London! In London, the fee was usually two pounds.

The men finished loading the luggage and Bill climbed up into the driver's seat. A few of the children had been placed on the bench because there had been a shortage of space for the adults. Bill did not mind as long as they kept quiet and didn't fidget. He sat down in-between them and spurred the horse on with his whip. They immediately went off at a steady gallop. The children stayed fairly quiet for the first few minutes, but then they started talking to one another and laughing. One of the boys that was sitting right beside Bill suddenly perked up and asked: "Sir, can I drive for a while?"

Bill grunted and said that he didn't think so. "I don't own this carriage - it belongs to my employers," he added as an afterthought. "An' I don't need it getting stuck somewhere - How old are yer?"

"Nine," the boy replied.

"That's too young," Bill whipped the horse again.

The boy went silent and began to examine a bag that was set on his lap. He pulled out a small cake of bread and began to nibble it.

Bill, feeling his stomach to be empty by that point, pulled some ham from his coat pocket and began to eat it. The other children watched as he did so and he began to feel a bit cruel. He offered some to each child and they accepted the food gratefully - that is - all except the boy with the cake.

"Yer sure yer don't want some?" asked Bill.

The boy nodded and then said, his mouth full at the time, "I can't eat pigs; I'm Jewish."

Bill turned away to look back at the road. I swear, he thought to himself, I can't go a day without runnin' into the likes of 'em!

**Well, it appears that Bill is off on his own once again! When will he learn? Ha, ha ha! I hope everyone enjoyed that chapter. This story has still a long way to go before it ends. Please keep reading and keep reviewing! Thanks! - Elaine Dawkins**


	31. Tipsy Times

_**Tipsy Times**_

_Bet is reminded of the fact that Fagin is a normal man, whether she likes it or not._

Mr. Brownlow and Miss Doris arrived back at the hotel after several hours of searching around for Bill. Bet had returned earlier and was in the process of playing cards with Oliver and Leanne. Leanne had relaxed back to her old demeanor - which had happened with the promise of her being allowed to play the flower girl at the future wedding of Mr. Fagin and Miss Betsey. Oliver had been asked to be ring-bearer, but he declined because of the fact that it was the old Jew's wedding. He was still quite afraid of being found out and said that he would probably not even be able to attend. This saddened Bet a bit, yet she remarked that that was perfectly fine.

Miss Doris came into the room and Leanne raced over to give her mother a tight embrace. Linda returned the action with fervor even though she was worn out and quite depressed by the fact that they had been unable to locate their prey. Leanne saw this in her mothers face and did not even ask about their search. She decided to announce Bet's engagement in order to enliven everyones' mood.

"Bet is getting married," she blurted out with a smile.

"What?" Linda looked over at Bet and seemed unsure about this fact's validity.

Bet nodded and smirked. "I'm marrying Fagin - he proposed!"

"When are you planning to get married?" asked Linda.

"Some time in the future; once he has the proper means to do so. He wants to be able to buy a house, afford a proper wedding, and what not."

Mr. Brownlow spoke up, "Are you sure it is wise to do so?"

Bet nodded and then added, "Fagin has changed. I know what I'm doing."

Leanne perked up, "I get to be the flower girl!"

"Really?!" Linda smiled and pulled off her bonnet, letting her long, blond hair cascade down her back. After a pause, she spoke again, "Congratulations Bet!"

"Thank you," Bet smirked and looked down at her cards.

"It's almost lunch time," Miss Doris commented. "We're heading down to the restaurant off the lobby downstairs; are you coming?"

"I think I want to stay here for now," replied Bet. "Tell them to send something up."

Miss Doris said that she would do so right away and then they all left. Bet continued to sit alone at the small table near the window. She shuffled the cards and began to place them on the table, preparing for a quiet game of solitaire.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Bet.

In came a waiter with a plate of food. He set it upon the table and Bet gave him a few crowns for his work. The man then excused himself and left the room.

Bet picked up a knife and fork and began to slice the small turkey into thin pieces. She hummed to herself, during which she poured the gravy and took a small taste of the cooked asparagus. After a few bites, Bet paused, mid chew. She had a sudden feeling that she was being watched. She turned in her chair and ran eye to eye with the old Jew.

"Fagin!" cried Bet. "Don't scare me like that! Where did you come from? What are you doing here? Why are you spying on me?!"

Fagin stepped back a pace and regarded Bet with a smile. "My dear, I came in behind the waiter and I guess I was enjoying watching you eat."

Bet's eyes narrowed, "You've been drinking."

"Just a bit of champaign, my dear. Terry brought it out. I asked him to be my best man," Fagin grinned widely and then sat down upon the bed in the corner of the room.

"Good idea," Bet took another bite of her meal.

Fagin began to rub his hands together in a distracted manner. He looked up toward the ceiling and whistled. Bet focused on her food, wondering why he was still there.

"You know, my dear," Fagin suddenly stood up. He walked over to the table and placed his hand upon Bet's shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Terry also said that he would pay for the wedding - a present, my dear!"

"Really? And you said he could?"

"Certainly, my dear!" he began to rub her shoulders in a tender manner that was completely out of character. "And now, I don't have to wait to get all that money. We can get married as soon as possible!"

"You really want to go back to London, don't you?" Bet looked up at him.

"No, no, no, my dear!" he gave her a reproving look and then kissed the top of her head. "I love you, my dear. London is far from . . . um . . ."

"Your mind," Bet finished the sentence for him and then arose from her chair.

Fagin let go of her shoulders and looked at her with a surprised expression.

Bet cleared her throat and then said, "We can do it next week. Now, don't you dare start something you can't finish."

"Something I can't finish, my dear?" Fagin gave her another grin.

"You know what I'm talking about. Go home and sleep the rest of that champaign off. Come back tomorrow when you're sober and we can talk some more." Bet led the Jew to the door.

Fagin stole another kiss from her and then left, saying that he would be back the next morning.

"Goodbye," Bet waved at his retreating form.

She then closed and locked the door. It was a very rare thing; Fagin being drunk. Bet didn't like it, but she knew that he would be fine and in his right mind the next morning so it did not matter. He better not get drunk at the wedding, she sighed, that would be embarrassing! She sat back down in her chair and finished off her lunch. It was a fact, and she could not avoid it forever; Fagin was a man. And he was going to play with her affections just like all the rest of his gender. Bet had always seen him as almost a fatherly man, but he had kissed her a few times during his short visit and he had done a few other strange actions. Bet shook her head. What would it be like after the wedding? Would he act normally as long as he stayed away from alcohol? Bet hoped so.

Now, her thoughts turned to Dodge. What was he doing right now? Bet concluded, from past experiences, that he had probably left the house and was now roaming the streets looking for entertainment.

Bet looked up at an old clock on the wall. It had struck one several minutes ago. Bet got up, tied her shawl under her chin, and went out.

It had stopped raining, but the sky was dark and threatening another down-pour. The air smelt clean with the scent of flowers and freshly-formed mud. The trees were dripping and the sound of flowing water could be heard as it flowed down water spouts and rooftops.

Bet stood in the doorway of the hotel and took in all the freshness and cool air that she could. She looked about and opened her umbrella as a precaution before stepping out. Stepping down from the entrance, she turned to head left, down the sidewalk. Doing so, she bumped into the old Jew unexpectedly.

He was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his elbows resting on his knees and his head cupped in his hands. Bet had merely run into him with the toe of her shoe. She pulled her foot back, before tripping, collected herself, and addressed him.

"Fagin, I thought you were headed back to Terry's."

The Jew slowly looked up as thought he had not noticed her before. He raised his eyes to stare her in the face and then lowered them to gaze at the water running along the side of the street. He coughed a few times and then sighed deeply. "My dear," his voice was weak sounding and he seemed to be talking more to himself that to her. "I want to apologize . . . I am sorry. I . . . um . . . was rude, very rude, my dear. I spoiled your lunch - I know. I will try to not drink so much ale, my dear. Not like me at all and I am terribly embarrassed as, I know, you are."

"That's alright," Bet shrugged and tried to act nonchalant about the whole affair.

Fagin, seeing these actions, seemed to perk up a bit in mood. "So, you will still marry me, my dear?" he was timid in asking the question as though waiting for some heavy blow to come of it.

"For sure! I promise I will - you'll have to do worse than that to scare me off!" Bet laughed and Fagin joined in. He then stood up, smiled at Bet and walked away. Bet watched as he headed down the street and noted that he seemed to sway a bit as he went.

"My goodness," Bet said to herself. "He had better stay sober. He's not that drunk, but just enough to be noticeable."

She decided to follow him to make sure he would make it back to Terry's in one piece. He seemed to know exactly where he was going so it did begin to seem futile to Bet. None-the-less, she followed him all the way.

Dodge was leaning against a post outside the smithies shop. He turned to look at Fagin as he came closer. The boy narrowed his eyes and then shook his head in dismay. Fagin walked past him and inside the shop. Bet ran over to Dodge and said hello.

"He's a bit tipsy," Dodge informed her.

"I know. He showed up a while ago at my hotel room."

Dodge's eyes widened. "Why did he do that?" he spoke as though he were looking for a certain answer.

"He wanted to talk about the wedding."

"Oh," Dodge rubbed his nose and then said, "He was talking to Terry this morning - I suppose he told you about that."

"Yes."

"Well, it was a bit of a fight," Dodge added. "Terry said no at first because he was worried that if he was the best man he would have to give a toast. Fagin told him he didn't have to, so he finally said he would."

Bet bit her lip, "That's interesting. What are you doing?"

"Just standing here, I guess. I do have something I was supposed to do, but I don't know if I want to do it just yet."

"What's that?"

"Fagin wants me to talk and apologize to Leanne for him. He slapped her the other day and hasn't spoken to her since. She didn't say anything?"

"No. Why did he slap her?" Bet was beginning to feel quite annoyed.

"She asked him about Oliver. You know, 'the taboo subject,' Dodge nodded and then said, "I would, but I just am not sure . . ."

"Leave it for now," Bet cautioned, "Wait until he's normal. Anyway, she might not care anymore; this morning I asked her if she wanted to be the flower girl at the wedding."

"Good!" Dodge grinned, "Now I don't have to do that!"

"We still need a ring-bearer," Bet mused.

Dodge pretended not to hear her. He began to whistle and became intrigued with the way his boots shone in the daylight.

"That's a 'no' isn't it?" Bet laughed.

"Yup," he stuck his hands in his coat pockets and headed down the street, leaving Bet standing on the corner by herself.

**Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it!! It takes some work to write these chapters and it is nice to know that readers enjoy it. BTW that is a really good reason to review. It helps me know that I'm not being ignored! Thanks! - Elaine Dawkins**


	32. Joyous Day

_**Joyous Day**_

_Two lives are bonded together in holy matrimony. _

As it turned out, Terry Hudgins was willing to invest more in the wedding than Fagin or Bet had expected. He was willing to hire a small orchestra and he gave a good sum to the happy couple so that they could buy some special clothes for the event. He already belonged to a church, so he didn't need to pay for that expense. But he still felt the need to buy streamers, ribbons, little bags of rice, candles, and many bouquets of flowers. In addition, he even promised to pay for the honeymoon.

"Where . . . would . . . you . . um . . to go . . . like . . . like to go?" he asked Fagin and Bet one evening.

"No need to pay for that, my dear!" Fagin grinned nevertheless.

Terry shook his head to give the impression that any waffling on their parts was lost on him. "I . . . insist!" he cried.

"We weren't even planing on an actual wedding," Fagin frowned. "We were just going to go down to the courthouse . . ."

Terry's smile faded and was replaced by a very serious expression. "It would be . . . less official . . . better under . . . the . . . sight of God!" he nodded at this point and then produced, from his trouser pocket, a sample of a wedding invitation.

"Who are we supposed to invite, my dear?" Fagin rubbed his eyes in a tired manner.

Terry smiled and then told him that the whole congregation of the Tumbler Street Church was invited. He then showed them a stack of letters that had been sent to his address. "R.S.V.P.s!" Terry exclaimed.

Fagin began to chuckle at this. "My dear!" he replied, "That's a lot of strangers! They're probably only coming to gawk at us!"

Bet looked over at Fagin and smiled. She then turned her attention back to Terry. "We really appreciate all of this," she said, "We'll have to repay you somehow."

"No . . . need to," Terry grinned and then sent them off to buy their new clothes.

Fagin and Bet went out of Terry's apartment and then headed down the street together.

"So much for the simple wedding," Bet gave a weak smile.

"It doesn't matter, my dear," Fagin slid his hand into hers as they walked along. "We'll enjoy it. Here's the taylor shop; I'm going in. See you later," he gave her a small kiss on the cheek and went inside.

The day of the big event dawned with the sun hovering in a sky of deep azure blue. The breeze swept with it the smell of sea and heather. It drifted in through the open window and ruffled the curtains as Bet looked at herself in the mirror. She was standing very still as Miss Doris buttoned up the back of her dress and straightened her veil. She had put Bet's long hair up in a bun and stuck all sorts of small flowers into it until she looked like a fairy princess.

"You're so fortunate," lamented Linda, "I always dreamed of getting married. Bill never would have allowed it. Well, that's the last one; you look gorgeous!" she stepped back. Turning to her daughter, who was in the corner, fingering her small basket of flowers, and said, "Leanne, honey, what do you think?"

Leanne looked up and gasped, "I want to look like that when I get married." Miss Doris smiled at these words, thinking them to be said in a childish manner. In reality though, Leanne had meant those words in a very pointed way - the pointing being done toward Oliver, who was seated beside her. He looked up at her, smiled, and then remarked that he was feeling quite uncomfortable in his suit.

"But you look so nice," Leanne commented to him.

"I suppose, but I don't feel so nice. How much longer until we leave?" he looked over at Linda.

"In a couple of minutes. We have to wait for Mr. Brownlow."

"I wish you were going to be in the wedding," Bet said to Oliver. "We have a flower girl, but still no ring-bearer. Dodge would have nothing to do with it."

Oliver looked a bit sad and regretful for ever saying he wouldn't. He apologized and repeated the fact that it was the Jew's wedding and that, was he to participate, Fagin would, undoubtedly, hit him over the head or do worse actions than that.

Bet laughed and said that there was nothing to worry about. "He would probably just ignore you," she stated.

"I don't know . . ," Oliver glanced over at Leanne. "He slapped her for just saying my name."

Miss Doris frowned and Bet shook her head as though trying to forget about that fact.

"Such a lovely day," Linda changed the subject.

"I suppose it will be a scorcher," Bet smoothed the silky front of her gown with her hands. "I better not melt in this. I don't know - I'm just not used to looking this nice. I just don't look like me - I look like, well, a stranger. I feel as though I need to introduce myself to that person in the mirror or something!"

Linda laughed, "We'll just have to see if Fagin recognizes you! That's what counts - If he runs out of the church, screaming, well then, we'll know it was a mistake!"

At that moment, Mr. Brownlow appeared. Miss Doris made a few more alterations to Leanne's and Oliver's attire and then they all left the hotel and headed for the church.

The church was full of people. All the pews were filled and there were a good many individuals still outside. Several of them greeted Bet and gave her their best wishes. Bet was a bit surprised by that, but was very grateful to them for their presence and their kind words. After a few minutes, she went over to one of the stained-glass windows and peeked inside. There were flowers in all the corners of the sanctuary, there were ribbons draped across the aisles and sunlight bathed all and made the room golden-looking. Mr. Brownlow and Oliver immediately went on inside. Leanne stayed outside with her mother in order to prepare for her part in the whole affair.

Fagin had arrived half an hour earlier with Dodge. Dodge had procured a good seat in the front row and was sitting, swinging his legs back and forth, and looking over at the old Jew, who was standing up front with the minister.

Oliver, feeling a bit wary, followed Mr. Brownlow up to the front row. Dodge's eyes widened as Oliver plopped down beside him. Oliver smiled timidly and Dodge stared at him, no real expression on his face.

"Hi," said Oliver.

"You're back, eh?" Dodge turned away to look over at Fagin.

Oliver nodded and then said, "I'm a friend of Leanne's."

"Oh."

"I heard that you didn't want to be in the wedding," commented Oliver in as friendly a voice as he could muster. "I didn't want to either."

Dodge turned back to look Oliver in the eye. He gave a tiny smile and then remarked, "Two of a kind, then." He turned again to watch the old Jew.

Now, Fagin (catching Dodge's gaze) began to stare at Oliver. He tried to smile, but after failing to do so, decided to ignore his presence. He was too distracted anyway. He fingered his coat, straightened his collar, checked his shoes, and tried to make sure his hat was sitting level on his head.

More people entered the church and stood in the back behind the rows of pews. Everyone then went quiet as though a spell had fallen over all and, to the nervous anticipation of the old Jew, the small orchestra began the usual wedding march song.

Leanne entered the far door and began her long walk toward the front. She flung flower petals in the air and smiled. Her smile became wider as she came forward, because Oliver was smiling back at her, and also because Dodge was making funny faces at her. She tried not to laugh and made it all the way to the front row before giggling softly to herself. She sat down next to Oliver and tapped Dodge on the shoulder.

"What?"

Leanne leant forward and whispered, "You're so childish!"

"Well," retorted Dodge in the same tone, "Not as childish as you prancing down the aisle, in that ridiculous get-up, and throwing flowers everywhere. Yuck!" he grimaced with displeasure.

Leanne stuck out her tongue and then tired to ignore Dodge and focus on what was happening.

Next, Linda came down the aisle, wearing a soft green dress, and last came Bet.

Bet felt a bit embarrassed as all eyes fell on her and she heard whispers of, 'Isn't she lovely?', 'Oh my!', and 'What a lucky man!' Bet tried to ignore the whispers and found that it became easier as she got closer to the front of the building. Fagin was smiling and she could see that he had water standing in his eyes. He was wearing his usual dress, but made with new fabrics of black and navy instead of his usual red and green. Bet felt herself filled with warmth and happiness. It was as though she would sprout wings and fly - she was so filled with joy!

She walked up the steps and stood beside the Jew. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, and then reached out his right hand and grabbed her left. He squeezed it and then turned his eyes to stare sideways at her. Bet returned the actions and smiled. The minister began the ceremony as usual. Fagin and Bet made their promises, their vows, exchanged rings, and lastly embraced one another, with the pronouncement of their being husband and wife.

Fagin pulled her tight to himself and kissed her several more times on the head after first kissing her on the lips. Bet reveled in his soft coat and in the warmth of his body. She felt tears beginning to leak out and down her cheeks. She sniffed a few times and Fagin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the tears away. He held her face in his hands, smiled upon her, and whispered, "I love you, my dear."

Never had such words been uttered so beautifully and tenderly to Bet's ears. She kissed his lips with all the passion she could muster and then looked away as she felt something hit her on the back.

Several of the children (including Dodge) could no longer hold in their longing to douse the happy couple with their share of the rice. Bet covered her eyes and Fagin grabbed her hand. They ran out of the church, ducking and dodging the grainy ammunition until they arrived outside and found that a coach was waiting for them. They ducked inside and rice flew through the air with lasting fury. They both laughed for a time and Bet leant back into Fagin's arms. He made it his business to pluck the little rice grains from her hair as they drove off. After a while, the Jew, feeling a bit feisty, even began to try to get the rice out from Bet's bodice. Bet laughed harder and grabbed his hands to stop him from doing so.

"Now, now, my dear!" Fagin grinned, "I've as much right to it as you do!"

Bet grinned, but did not reply. She placed his hands so that they rested on her stomach. She leant her head back against his chest and sighed. Fagin began to kiss her continuously on the top of her head and on her neck. She giggled a few times, but found that it was actually quite pleasurable. Bet closed her eyes and asked, "Is Dodge staying with Miss Doris?"

"Yes, my dear," Fagin pulled her closer to him.

"Where are we headed?"

Fagin closed his eyes, "Some sort of bed and breakfast outside town. It supposedly looks over fields of heather. Should be nice."

Bet paused for an instant and then asked, "Are you going to pay back Terry for all this?"

The old Jew nodded and then said, "But, my dear, it will take much work on my part. I may never be able to repay him."

"I have some money set aside - let me pay for part of it."

"You don't have to, my dear!"

"I want to."

"Oh, well . . . alright, my dear," Fagin kissed her once more.

They both fell silent. Perfectly happy to be together and enjoy the moment.

The carriage continued on at a good pace and Fagin undid Bet's bun and pulled out all the little flowers. He ran his fingers down the light-brown strands and more rice fell onto the velvet seat. "I think," said the Jew after a time, "That we'll be away for three days. That should be enough time to enjoy the scenery and the complementary meals."

"When will we go back to London?"

"As soon as I finish Terry's book; which may never happen as long as he keeps adding to it."

"What is he writing about?" Bet sat up and stretched.

"It's a novel about some children in a boarding school. They try to escape. It's actually quite brilliant once you read it. I have gotten through the first six chapters already, but that is only one eighth of it. It is quite tiring work and my hands get all cramped up by the end of the day. Oh, by the way, I wanted to tell you; when I first went to the church, my dear. You noticed, I suppose, that there is a graveyard on the side? Well, I found where Mrs. McGillian was buried."

"She was the doting, old woman you lived with for a time?" Bet questioned.

"Yes, my dear. Anyway, she is in the ground there and upon that spot is a lovely marble gravestone. I wish I had inherited something! I mean, she knew we needed money and besides, we kept her company in her last days, my dear!"

"No need to get upset," Bet eyed him. "We're supposed to be relaxing. Besides, it doesn't matter now. I want to ask: how do you get permission to go back out of the country?"

"That's quite simple, my dear," Fagin calmed down quite a bit. "You see, Bet, all we need to do is wait for the authorities to get that marriage license. Once they have that in their grubby hands, we will be free to roam at leisure. It should take a week at the most."

Bet looked out the window, "I suppose you've figured out that we still can't find Bill."

"I told you so, my dear. Once Bill Sikes has a plan, there's no stopping him and his stubbornness. Miss Doris should just go back with Leanne to where ever they lived. It's no use, my dear!"

"Leanne has gotten over the whole thing," Bet mused. "You're right. I will tell them that as soon as possible. Really, I think Linda was planning on heading back some time here soon anyway and Mr. Brownlow has to get back to London."

Fagin nodded and then said, "Boring subjects for speech, my dear! Why, I thought we were going to have some enjoyment."

"We will," Bet grinned, "But not here in the carriage; wait till we get to our destination!"

"You are far to saintly, my dear!"

"And you are far to naughty!"

Fagin then applauded her for such a lovely, and honorary, description of himself. Bet folded her arms and shook her head, "What will I ever do with you!"

**Well, I'm on a roll! I have written three chapters in the last three days! I hope to have a wedding like that myself someday. **

**Please leave a review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	33. To Be Found

**To Be Found**

_Bill reflects further on his life and discovers something valuable along the way._

Eighteen days later, Bill arrived at Oxford. He dismounted from his carriage and began to unload the luggage that belonged to his passengers. As he worked, Bill began to consider what his next mode of action was going to be. He was tired of moving people, besides, he had no real business doing so. He was not a licensed cabby and he was constantly worried that someone would ask to see his papers. Luckily, that had not been the case.

Bill got the last of the luggage down and handed it to an elderly couple. They thanked him for his help and departed. Now was the time to make a quick decision. He could either use the carriage to travel the last fifty miles to London or walk there and go at a leisurely pace. After some rapid thinking, he chose the latter of the two. He looked about himself to make sure that no one was paying him any attention and then he walked away from the carriage and headed down a street. Once there, he turned a corner and disappeared from view.

He traveled down some alleyways and came to a small schoolyard that was inclosed with a low, wooden fence. There were no children within and the place looked extremely desolate; what with the wind causing the only toy, a teeter-totter, to squeak and move slightly in the breeze. The sun came out from behind the clouds and illuminated the scene for an instant and then was gone again. Bill sighed and walked along the small fence, wondering what that placed looked like during the fall when the children were there to bring life to that small, lonely corner of the world.

Bill remembered his few years of schooling; it seemed like an eternity ago. He saw himself, a thin boy of seven, wrestling on the ground with the other boys and teasing the girls until they ran away crying. It had been a different time; he had not met Fagin nor had the idea of a criminal life ever even entered his mind. He only worried about angry teachers, who had a habit of slapping students with a measuring rod, about the schoolwork he avoided doing, and about what he was going to be forced to eat for lunch. He had never cared much for school, but he had never cared for going home either. His mother had often been ill and he was often sent out to get groceries or made to do all the housework whilst his mother lay feebly in bed and spent most of her time downing whisky and sleeping. In fact, it had been because of her that he had started out to be a juvenile delinquent.

At about the age of fifteen, Bill was walking about London by himself, in search of a job to support his mother. He had been up the night before with her because she had been trembling violently and her fever had reached an alarming degree. He stayed by her bedside, mopping her forehead with a wet cloth and giving her shots of ale. Gratefully, she had seemed fine that morning, though, and he needed to get some fresh air.

Bill had about five pounds change in his pocket with which he was going to buy some much-needed breakfast. Regretfully, he never did use the money for such a purpose.

There was a man on the side of the street. He was sitting in a doorway and had his hat pulled down to hide his face. Bill walked by and tried not to pay any attention.

The man suddenly looked up and said, "Going somewhere?"

Bill nodded and tried to look as though he were in a hurry and had no time to talk.

"You live down Chutney Lane, don't you?" the man had stood up by now. "I need you to do me a favor."

Bill's eyes widened as the man came towards him. "I need you," he lowered his voice. "I need you to give this to a Mr. Collins. Can you do that, boy?" He placed a small bag in Bill's coat pocket as he said this.

"Al - alright," Bill gulped and then turned away. He ran farther down the alley and then looked back. The man had resumed his seat in the doorway and was now taking a long swig from a wine bottle.

Bill ran on and turned down several streets before he felt brave enough to walk at a calm pace. It was then that he came across a colleague of his.

"William Sikes!" the boy cried and ran over to shake his friend's hand. "I've been meanin' to visit you! How are things? Rotten?" he asked as he noticed Bill's expression. "It's your mother right?"

"Sort of," Bill looked towards the ground and kicked at a rock. "She was having trembles again last night," Bill shook his head. "She's alright today, but I've got a problem."

"Spill it!" the other boy grinned, "I won't tell. What is it?"

Bill pulled the sack from his pocket.

"What's that?" the boy took the sack and opened it. His eyes widened and he lowered his voice. "Coke. You got cocaine!"

"That's what it is?" Bill picked a bit of the powder up between his thumb and forefinger. The boys watched as the stuff went swirling in the wind; it was so light that it flew easily.

The other boy spoke up, "I've had a bit before. My brother let me try it. It would probably be good for your mother. It would probably save her!"

"You think so?" Bill eyed the sack suspiciously.

"Sure! Just mix some in with some tea or something. It won't do her any harm. No different than snuff an' you've had that before."

Bill nodded, "I'll try it."

His friend nodded, "Yeah, the only thing about it is that you see some pretty weird stuff - hallucinations - but it goes away and you feel really alive - at least, that's what my brother says."

Bill smiled, "You're right. I heard they use it in medicine anyway. She already has some pills - and they probably have it in them!"

"I've got to head home," replied the other boy. "See you tomorrow, maybe."

"Hey, Peter!" called Bill. "I've got some money - could yer maybe stop by your dad's store an' get me some flour an' meat?"

"I don't need your money!" Peter laughed, "I sneak some stuff out - my dad won't find out. Save yourself some coin!"

"Alright."

"I'll bring it by later!" Peter waved and ran off.

That night, Bill went into the kitchen. Pulling out the sack, he dropped two tablespoons worth of the powder into his mother's green tea. He mixed it in along with some powdered sugar. Bill placed the tea cup on a saucer and went into his mother's bedroom. She was lying under the covers and looked horrible. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, her skin was yellowed, and her hair was unwashed and stringy. Yet, she did give a small smile when she saw her son.

"Here, Mother," Bill handed her the tea. He placed his hands behind his back and secretly crossed his fingers, hoping that the cocaine would do the trick.

His mother raised the tea cup to her lips and then took a sip. She smiled and took another. After she had finished the cup, she did seem to get a bit better. She sat up and laughed for a while. Bill was pleased with this and felt really happy. "Yer liked the tea that much, Mother?" he asked.

"For sure, William . . . for sure!" she fell back onto her pillow and laughed some more.

"I'm going off to bed now . . ," Bill started to head for the bedroom door.

"Goodnight, William!" she called after him and, once more, went into hysterics.

Bill went into his small bedroom and began to undress. He could still hear his mother and he was very pleased because she seemed to be having the time of her life. He grinned and slid under the covers after first blowing out the candle on the bedstead.

Late that night, Bill was awoken by a strange sound. He jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. After figuring out that it was coming from his mother's room, he rushed in to see what the matter was.

His mother was moaning and trembling horribly. Bill ran to her side and said, "Mother! Are yer alright?!"

She did not seem able to answer. Bill lit a candle and brought it close to her face. She was very pale and her eyes were foggy. "Mother!" Not knowing what else to do, he went to get her pills. They were down in the kitchen and it took him several minutes to open the bottles because he was shaking so, with fright and worry. Next, he ran out into the street to get some water from the pump. Bill was now sweaty and breathing was difficult. He managed to fill a bucket, run back up the stairs, and reach his mother's bedside.

Mrs. Sikes was still in the same state. Bill fumbled with the pills, wondering how he was supposed to get her to take them. As he was preparing to force her mouth open, he jumped back in terror and alarm. His mother trembled worse than ever and then lay very still. Her glassy eyes were open and unmoved. There was nothing left for him to do.

Now, Bill came back to the present, feeling a rush of fear as though reliving the nightmare. He did not want to think about the rest of the episode. Needless to say, the drug had taken his mother's life. Bill still wondered whether, had he not given her such a high dose, it would have actually done some good. He had used laudanum since then, which he knew was cocaine infused. It did not do any harm as long as it was taken as recommended on the bottle.

Bill walked on and tried to think of something else. He felt a bit hungry and decided to get something to eat before heading on towards London - or maybe Ferndale; He still had not decided which.

He stopped at a restaurant and had a quick bite to eat. Then, he headed for the main road that led toward London. He had decided not to go looking for Bullseye; he was almost sure that the dog was no longer a part of the living earth. It had probably gone back to the dust from which it was created. There was no use in looking for it.

As he walked, Bill wondered that, as long as he was not going to go looking for the dog, why had he come all this way in the first place? It was probably because of the money he was making along the way. Bill pondered about this and finally deemed this to be the fact. He was not rich, but he was not poor either.

On one of the side streets, there was a water-pump. Bill went over to it, figuring that he would splash his face and rub the dirt off of it. He went over to it and filled a small pale that was sitting under the spout. He knelt on the ground and pulled up a handful of water. Bill was just about to douse himself when suddenly he was grabbed by the wrist. He looked up and found himself staring into the face of a policeman.

The officer had a gruff expression on his face and spoke with a booming voice, "Get up! By the Law, you are to remain silent! Up now!"

Bill was too stunned to do anything but obey orders. He rose to his feet and noticed that the officer was pointing a gun at him. A crowd had gathered around; children laughed, women looked on in fear, and men scoffed. A butcher had left his shop and was standing on the cobblestones, swinging his chopping knife in the air. He spoke aloud, "Good goin'! Got another one, eh?!"

The officer nodded in a very serious way and several other policemen ran over to the scene. One of them handcuffed Bill and asked, "This is William Sikes, ain't it, Morgan?"

"Yeah, he's the one as murdered that girl in London. Let's get him back to the sergeant and get some papers filed. I can see we won't be going home early tonight. This one will probably take a while." He turned to one of the other officers, "Make sure he doesn't have anything on him, Hugh!"

"I did so, sir. I got his wallet and he was carrying a small pistol. That's all."

"Let's get him away from the people. Come on!"

Bill was led away as the crowd snickered and called down curses upon his head. It was humiliating being dragged down the street and into the police station. Bill was too numb to think straight for the time being and just let things pass without much conscious awareness. Everything seemed blurred or in a haze and time seemed to slow, almost to the point of ceasing.

He was brought into the police station and was taken into a small room. They told him to sit in a chair and wait. The officers left and locked the door.

The room ware bare except for two chairs and a desk. It was dark because there was no window to let the light of day enter. Bill sat quietly, staring at the floor, until the sound of the door opening caught his attention. He looked up and saw an officer, one which he had not yet seen, step inside and close the door once more. He came over to the other chair, opposite Bill, and began to flip through a stack of papers. After a minute he looked up.

"So you are William Sikes?"

Bill nodded, still too shocked to be verbal.

"You are thirty-six?"

"Thirty-sivin'," Bill finally found his voice.

The officer made a quick note on the edge of the paper and went on, "You are accused of murdering a young woman."

Bill gazed at the man and made no remark.

"Yes. Well, Mr. Sikes, I can only assume that you are telling the truth and that, say we were wrong, you would speak up?"

"Yeah," Bill squirmed in his seat.

"Good. Well then, you will be locked up, of course - for the time being. We will have a short trial in a little while and then you will get your sentence. It will probably only be a few hours - we have been looking for you for some time," he stood up and went over to the door. He had a short, whispered, conversation with someone outside and then Bill was taken down a long hallway to a tiny cell. He was locked in and left there.

Bill spend most of the time asleep upon his cot. He was a bit worried and found that, even though it was very hard to fall asleep in the first place, it was a good way to escape. He tossed and turned a bit and he would even awake periodically, but his dreams were surprisingly peaceful.

At some point in time, he was shook awake and led to a courtroom. It was filled with bystanders and there was a very large jury. The judge was already waiting for him.

The proceedings were very slow. There being no real witnesses to testify, the judge was forced to question only Bill.

"You are sentenced for a charge of murder. Murder to your girlfriend. How do you respond?"

Bill eyed the judge and said, "She was botherin' me so I hit her across the 'ead several times."

The jury went into whispers and the judge looked astonished, "But you must have something to say in defense?"

Bill elaborated, "I hit her over th' 'ead because she was tryin' ter turn me in."

The judge rubbed his eyes and said to the jury, "Does anyone have anything to say - this is an odd case."

One man raised his hand and called out, "I was there when they arrested him. He had a pistol."

"Is that true?" asked the judge.

Several of the policemen nodded assent at this fact and the weapon was brought forward.

The judge, seeing that the end had to be in sight, repeated the original question to Bill, "Do you have anything to say in defense?"

Bill took the time to think. He could tell the court about Fagin and about what he had been up to. But, Bill admitted, as wonderful as it would be to see the Jew hung, it would not save his own skin. In fact, Bill vowed to himself that he would do no such thing. For, as he reminded himself, Leanne liked Fagin and he was not going to disappoint his daughter further.

Bill sighed deeply and said, "I killed my girlfriend in a very bloody an' disgusting manner. Hang me for it!"

The room became chaotic at this point. Everyone was talking and the judge had to yell to make himself heard. "SILENCE!"

All eyes were on the judge and the jury sat back down.

The judge cleared his throat and said, "What does the jury think?"

"GUILTY!" they chorused.

"Then," cried the judge, "You, Mr. William Sikes, are sentenced to be hung at sundown. Court dismissed!"

That announcement rang in Bill's ears as they led him back to his cell. He looked out a window as they took him away and he noted that the sun was getting closer to the horizon. It was becoming more and more golden as it peeked out from behind the clouds.

They left him as before, but promised this time that they would be back within an hour. Bill stretched out upon the cot and felt a wave of despair come over him. His throat tightened and he found himself shaking uncontrollably. At this point, he stood up and paced about. Now his head felt a bit clearer and he was able to think deeply about things. He found that the more he considered the past month, the less tense he became. He had done some good hadn't he? He had spoken to Linda, spent some time with his daughter, and had done some other things besides. It seemed as though all his life had been packed into those few, precious weeks.

Bill felt like an old man. He had lived it up and was now going to die. So what of it? He would die anyway. Bill only hoped that perhaps Leanne would not think badly of him in the future. He did love her, he only wished that he could say so just one last time. Feeling a sudden need to do so, he got down upon his knees and, looking up to heaven, said with deep emotion, "Lord! Yer know that I never took an interest in yer. . . But, please forgive me! I have done many wrong things, I know, an' I'm sorry! An' please let Leanne know that I love her and please give her a happy life!" Bill could go on no longer but, feeling overcome with grief, broke down and wept.

Time now sped up to a furious speed and, before long, two officers grabbed Bill by the arms and took him outside. The sun shone across the city and blinded Bill in the eyes until they smarted and stung.

In the middle of the field, there was a platform, and on that platform stood the gallows. Bill's hands were tied behind his back and he was made to stand upon a wooden crate as the noose was slipped over his head. No one spoke, but everything was done in silence. Bill felt numb once more and could do nothing but think, Forgive me! His only other fleeting thought was quite shocking. Why had he returned if it was not for the dog? Fer myself, came the reply, I wanted to be found. I felt too guilty - no! I felt that I had finished doing what I needed to do and now I can rest in peace!

Bill raised his head to look back at the sun. It was huge and golden. Rays danced off of buildings and the sky was pink and purple. He acknowledged the beauty and, abruptly, the crate was slid out from under his feet. The rope tightened around his neck and, for a second, he continued to stare at the horizon. Then, life was no more.

**I hate writing this chapter! It's soooooo sad! Why did I do it? Someone hit me! Oh, well - what's done is done. It was going to happen eventually. **

**Please leave a review - I need to go get a kleenex . . .**

**- Elaine Dawkins**


	34. Past Sorrow and Future Happiness

_**Past Sorrow and Future Happiness**_

_A few weeks later . . . _

**William (Bill) Sikes **was arrested and hung on the seventh of July in the town of Oxford. Known by only a few, his life was basically a mystery. Peter Wently, a long-ago school friend, was willing to give a few facts about his childhood. Bill (as he was well known) lived the first fifteen years of his life in the poor district of London. His father had passed away a year after his birth and so he was left alone to take care of his ill mother. After her death, he basically disappeared from the public eye. He quit school, sold his mother's apartment, and went off alone. He left no forwarding address and did not stay in any contact with his friends. "I was quite surprised at his sudden upheaval. We had been very close. He had always talked to me about his problems at home - I still am shocked that he left - I know I was the only one he ever confided in. I felt a bit betrayed at the time," Mr. Wently told the Times.

On further investigation, more information was extracted from a few of the locals, who had lived near Mr. Sikes before and during the time in which he murdered his girlfriend, Nancy. It seems that he kept pretty close to home, except for going to the local bar at night. According to a neighbor, he was always quiet and seemed almost afraid of other people. "A little stand-offish," she said and then added, "I only saw his girlfriend a couple of times. I do believe he would treat her harshly and the fact that he murdered her doesn't surprise me. I always got the impression that he did not care much for the opposite sex - possibly something from his childhood."

I went back to Mr. Wently to ask what conclusion he had on the subject. "I don't think he hated women - he had no reason. His mother was always nice to him - I mean, yes, she wasn't able to care for him as a mother should, but that was not her fault and I don't think he blamed her for anything. I think that if you see Bill as a murderous madman, well then, you never knew Bill. He was funny, some-what shy, cautious, and had a pleasing personality. I think what tipped him over the brink was his mother's death - he couldn't handle it. I mean, what are you to do when you're fifteen and have no parents? I have three children of my own and I have done everything I can to make sure they would be cared for if I or my wife died. His mother couldn't provide that. I can't honestly imagine what sort of emotions he felt. London is a very scary city - what else could happen other than the fact that he got caught up in it." I asked Mr. Wently to explain further, but he declined, saying that he knew nothing more for sure.

The surprising ending to the story is the fact that Mr. Sikes asked to be hung. At the hearing, he freely replied, "I killed my girlfriend in a very bloody an' disgusting manner. Hang me for it!" He was immediately sentenced by the court and was hung an hour later. The man who was in charge of the hanging that day, Mr. Kelly Jones did make a very unusual statement. "It was like (and you can't say this about many hangings) - like the part of the Bible where the criminals are hung alongside Jesus. He just took the punishment in a quiet manner, whispered something like "forgive me, God," and then went away peacefully. I was talking to one of the other prisoners in the jail and he said that Mr. Sikes spent much of his time talking to God during his short stay. I guess he had picked up religion somewhere in his wanderings. Either way, God knows - maybe he's saved. Oh, and he also mentioned something to God about his daughter - whatever that means."

This last comment is still puzzling me. I cannot, at this point, say any more. Perhaps some light will be shed on the subject. All we know is that Mr. Bill Sikes wanted her his daughter to know that he loved her dearly and that he hoped her all the happiness that life can bring. Also, that he hoped she would not be ashamed of him. I hope that Bill's daughter will get in touch with the Times and help us finish the story. All I can say is that it is a very sad-sounding ending.

Mr. Peter Wently held a private ceremony last Thursday. He buried Bill in the same cemetery where his mother had been lain years before. "It is, I think, what he would have wanted," Peter smiles and adds, "I live near here and I can keep fresh flowers on the grave. I miss him a lot - I know he knows that."

Leanne placed the paper upon her lap and stared around the room. They had all gathered together at Terry's after Mr. Brownlow had discovered the article in the Edinburgh Crier. Leanne had read it aloud to all and she now looked over at her mother.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Sweet-pea?" Linda straightened up in her chair as if startled.

"Can I contact this reporter? I want to tell him about myself and more about Daddy," tears glistened in her eyes and she tried to wipe them away before they began to fall. "An' Mr. Wently?"

Linda stayed silent. After a bit, she looked over at Fagin. He was sitting across the room, next to Bet, and was staring down at the floor in a respectful position. He slowly became aware that Miss Doris was staring at him. He looked up and met her gaze.

"Mr. Fagin?" Linda began. "Was Leanne to do this, would it hurt you in any way?"

"None that I know of, my dear. Let the child write what she wants to write - it will help her cope," Fagin gave Leanne a grin.

Leanne smiled back and then went off to start writing.

Linda looked back over at the old Jew, "That was very thoughtful; thank you."

"Don't mention it, my dear. Leanne has practically become a granddaughter to me."

Bet smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek. "And what does that make me?"

"Her grandmother, my dear."

Bet laughed and gave Fagin a small slap for making such a comment.

"I didn't mean it, my dear!" Fagin got up out of the chair and rubbed his shoulder. "You'll be the - um . . ," he went silent.

Mr. Brownlow looked up and then relaxed once he realized that the Jew was not going to finish the saying.

"We will need to get back to Ferndale," Miss Doris announced. "Leanne will be going back to school in another month."

"We need to, also," Mr. Brownlow added. "Oliver has school and I have business to see to. We should head back together."

"I would appreciate it," Linda walked off to look out the window. "How about the day after tomorrow."

"Splendid! We can get some tickets for the first boat to leave. We will be back in London by Tuesday," he looked over at Oliver.

Oliver nodded and said, "It will be good to get back - I miss Mr. Losberne, Rose, and everybody."

"What about you two?" Linda addressed Fagin and Bet.

"We discussed this with Terry last night," Fagin began "He wants to go see London himself - says it will get him more story ideas, possibly." Fagin smiled and then went on, "We are planning on moving back - we have reason to be going back."

Dodge spoke up, "They don't want their future child to be Scottish."

Fagin and Bet looked over at Dodge and he grinned, "I was listenin' outside the bedroom door."

"You're pregnant? Congratulations!" Linda perked up instantly.

Bet smiled, but said nothing.

Fagin broke in, "We are not totally confident yet, my dears. We will find out."

After that, the conversation took a very happy turn.

"Have you started talking about names?" asked Linda.

"Not really," Bet replied.

"You should come up with a few - how about Laura?"

"Maybe if the baby was yours, my dear. Your family seems to be all made up of 'L' names," Fagin grinned. "I think I like Elizabeth. And if it is a boy, I would like Luke."

"Those sound nice," Bet agreed. "They're sensible. Not that I'm saying 'Laura' is not sensible!" she added after a pause.

"Don't worry, I'm not upset!," Linda blushed a bit. "It's your baby. Maybe someday I could have another - by marriage."

They all fell to laughter at this point.

Oliver, seeing that the adults' discussion was beginning to get a bit silly, retreated to the next room.

Leanne was laying on her stomach, on the bed, a pen in her hand and a paper in front of her. She was concentrating very hard.

Oliver closed the door behind himself. "Leanne?" he asked.

She paused in her writing and looked up at him.

"I think what you're doing is just great. I wanted to tell you that. I think you're right about your father - I wish I could have known him the way you did."

Leanne got down off the bed and wrapped Oliver up in a tight hug. She then kissed him on the cheek and said, "Thanks!"

Oliver smiled, "I hope I get to see you fairly often when we get back home."

"Me too," her face became a bit sullen. "I think we live an hour from London - by carriage."

"That's not too far - you could visit on the weekends. We could all get together for Sunday dinner or something."

"You're right," her smile reappeared. "Do you really think that my dad loved me?"

Oliver considered for a moment and then said, in a very honest way, "I think he did."

"That's good. Do you want to help me write this?"

"What would I write?" Oliver jumped up onto the bed and Leanne followed.

"Whatever you think makes sense."

"I didn't know him in a good way," Oliver protested. "It would just mess up your memory of him."

"Then you need to write it," Leanne was very serious on this matter. "I need to understand him - I need to know who he truly was - that is what is important. I don't think I could stop loving him."

"Alright. I will," Oliver grabbed a pen and took one of the papers Leanne had procured from atop the dresser.

After a few minutes of silent work, in which only the sound of scraping pens could be heard, Leanne tapped Oliver on the shoulder, "When are we leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Everyone's traveling together - even Fagin and Bet are coming. Oh, they're having a baby."

"Really? At Fagin's age?" Leanne raised her eyebrows in shock.

"Seems so," Oliver chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pen.

"I think he'll make a good father," Leanne concluded.

Oliver nodded, "He has potential. He's pretty nice to Dodge and you."

Leanne nodded, "Like one big family - aren't we?"

"Yes, and I think we're going to stay that way. That fellow, Mr. Wently, he was Bill's friend and he's still Bill's friend. That's an honest friendship and I think it's the same with all us. We're going to stick together and help each other out, no matter what."

"I hope you're right."

Oliver smiled, "I know I'm right."

**Well, that's it. I am a little saddened, but I hope everyone has enjoyed reading this story. I have new one that should be up really soon (like probably within a few hours!). Please read it, too!**

**Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!**

**Please leave a review (I really love them)! - Elaine Dawkins**


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